The Bitter Stag and the Vain Lioness
by Spooky Skull Face
Summary: It has been a whole year since the end of Robert's Rebellion. The Seven Kingdoms now know peace under the reign of the Stag King and his She-Wolf Queen. Yet this is not their tale, this is a tale of the Stag King's younger brother. A tale of how an attempt to make peace between two houses changed the lives of a Bitter Stag and a Vain Lioness; along with the history of Westeros.
1. A Bitter Stag

**Note: 90% books, 10% show  
Disclaimer: A Song of Ice and Fire is owned by G.R.R Martin. This is a strict non-profit venture.**

* * *

Dragonstone.

It was an imposing and dark formation jutting above the treacherous waters of Blackwater Bay. An ancient and forlorn cathedral that had been battered by salt, wind and dragon fire for centuries. The former seat of House Targaryen had a rich and long history, it was once the largest most westernmost outpost of the powerful Valyrian Freehold. When the Doom came and ended that grand civilization,it became the last standing legacy of the fallen Empire along with those survivors who ruled it, the ancestors of House Targaryen.

From Dragonstone did Aegon and his sister-wives begin their conquest of Westeros and from whence they eventually united the squabbling kingdoms under the Iron Throne. In the centuries that passed Dragonstone served as the traditional holdings of future heirs to House Targaryen.

Within the halls of this old castle did the histories of Westeros echo. The black stone was soaked in the stories of countless legends. From the Conquest, to the Dance of Dragons and more recently of his brother's rebellion.

Yet for all of its mythic grandeur. The seat of Dragonstone was a poor one. Its lands were barely fertile, it had few sworn bannermen, its smallfolk too few in number to raise any large levies. The only thing that Dragonstone possessed was a great naval force, that had been largely built under his oversight near the end of his brother's rebellion.

Yes, Dragonstone was full of symbolic wealth. A wealth that was useless to him for it was a wealth that belonged to the exiled House of Dragons.

The new King Robert seemed to think Dragonstone was a better gift than the lands of Storm End. That the seat of their House commanded less respect than the Gods forsaken rocks Dragonstone was roosted upon.

In a room within the Keep of Stone Drum. A long table around 50 feet long and about half that wide dominated the room, carved and painted in the shape of Westeros and poorly illuminated by the rays of the rising sun that managed to pierce the morning fog; this was the Painted Table, which Aegon himself used in his ambition to conquer the Seven Kingdoms. Located on top of where Dragonstone would be upon this map did a lone figure sit upon a throne.

Even seated any who witnessed him would notice immediately how large of a man he was. He was tall, broad and sinewy. His thin, pale lips were curled into a long and angry frown. His dark blue eyes were lingering over one particular section of the Painted Table with both envy and a tinge of small sadness. His face was tight, tighter than it usually was. His hair was beginning to disappear at the crown and a thick moss of hair was quickly growing across his large jaw.

The man was only one and twenty yet the stress of living here had aged him to twice that number.

This was how he spent his time ever since Robert took the throne with his pretty Stark wife; quietly smoldering over the unkind hand that he been dealt with.

Not once had Robert acknowledge his younger brother since he was "gifted" Dragonstone. Nary a single raven nor a visit. Robert was too busy whoring around even when he had finally wed the She-Wolf that he had incessantly fawned over during the rebellion against the Mad King and his son. In fact, it seemed he had become even worse in his unsavory predilections, it grew to the point that it strained his initially strong friendship with Lord Eddard Stark. Although the rumors floating around mention that estrangement started much earlier. When a weakened Lyanna Stark was rescued from the Tower of Joy. What actually transpired was closely guarded and some more daring rumors speak of a secret Targaryen bastard.

It did not concern him however. Stannis Baratheon was estranged for a far longer period of time from his brother than Eddard Stark was. He took little comfort in the knowledge that Robert's closest friends were starting to see the other side of the gregarious Stag.

He still remembered the words Robert spoke to him when he showed umbrage at how he treated his Stark wife. Those words would ever remain in his head, never going away.

Stannis Baratheon was stuck here. All but forgotten. All because he did his duty.

He had suffered in Storm's End when it was under siege by the full might of the Reach.

He bled when he was instructed to assault the very holding he was now Lord over.

He had given Robert his sweat,blood and sword as he raged against the Mad King and the Dragon Prince for taking his betrothed.

And for all of his he was given a giant hunk of rock to rule over. While his home, his birth right, was given to that mewling babe Renly.

He grabbed the armrests on his seat in an iron-strong vice. His lower jaw moved side to side as he ground his teeth in a quiet rage.

When Robert slips in his Kingly duties men are in awe of him as if he was blessed by all of the Seven. When he obeys his duties to the letter and spirit unfailing he is distrusted by men who look upon him like he was some heathen Ironborn Priest of the Drowned God.

It irritated him. It angered him.

What made worse was that he could do nothing about it. This was his duty. He was Lord of Dragonstone; he could do nothing to change that. That was the duty accorded to him and he would rather die in misery than fail in fulfilling his oath as his brothers honoured vassal.

Duty was the great chain that binds them all. If that chain were ever severed, all of Westeros would suffer for it.

It was a harsh mistress. One that could take everything you loved and desired and leave you destitute. Yet without duty they would be no better than the wildlings living beyond the Wall.

It enraged him, the injustice of it all;but, lately it was also driving him into a maddened despair.

"My lord Stannis." A wizened old voice snapped him out of his gloomy thoughts. Maester Cressen had entered the chamber without him noticing. He cursed inwardly for his laxity.

"Why do you disturb me Maester?" His voice was like of stone striking iron. It rang with a deep reverberance that one could attribute to echo; however, it was intimidating all the same.

"Forgive me, but a letter from King's Landing has arrived." The Maester was old. Cressen had served faithfully underneath Stannis' own father. He continued to serve after the deaths of his parents and instead of serving under that summer child Renly he had chosen to serve him. Stannis would not openly say it; but, he saw in Cressen a second father.

Stannis took roughly from the Maester's shaky hands a letter that bore the seal of the King. He broke it and read through its contents.

Once.

Twice.

Thrice.

Then a final fourth time.

The more he read the more he did not understand. Eventually after a tense quiet pause Stannis' jaws clenched tightly. It seemed Robert had made it his life's duty to commit deeds that served to embitter him further than he already had.

"What's wrong my lord?" Cressen was concerned. He had known Stannis long enough to know that look only came when ever Robert intentionally or otherwise slighted his brother.

Stannis placed the letter on the painted table with a large echoed thump. His eyes narrowed in obvious fury.

"I have been _betrothed_ to Cersei Lannister." Stannis spat out the word betrothed like it was a Essoi poison. Cressen finally understood.

"Did your brother order you to do it?" Stannis had a single moment of insight as he looked through the letter once more. Looking for any sign that Robert had invoked his full authority as King.

He did not.

"No, it is only a mere suggestion. It speaks of how he had been approached by Lord Tywin Lannister of an advantageous union between their houses. A union formed through the marriage of his eldest daughter to the heir-apparent of the Iron throne." Stannis quoted the letter with a bitter and grim tone.

"Yet you remain upset? I hear Cersei Lannister is the most beautiful woman within Westeros." Maester Cressen said in a futile attempt to mollify his angered lord.

"She is also the sister of the Kingslayer. What use do I have for beauty? It fades away like words in the wind. This Cersei does not matter to me at all. No, what is important is the sheer audacity of my brother to insult me in such a brazen manner." Cressen knew much of the conflict between Stannis and his brother. It saddened him to see it whenever it surfaced.

"How did he insult you?" Maester Cressen was sure this would give cause to Stannis to rant out his woes.

"He nary sends a raven nor a single acknowledgement of my existence. Ever since I was made Lord of this crumbling ruin not once did Robert send word for me. Too busy with attending to his 'duties'. Now months hereafter he sends me this letter. Telling me now that a betrothal between me and some Westerlands tart is being considered without even bothering any sort of council from my end. I am his vassal. The tone of this letter is ignorant of my station as Lord. He writes as if I was not Lord of Dragonstone,but his young brother who remains unwed and unlanded." Cressen raised his bushy white brows.

"Are you sure you might be seeing insults where it was not intended?" Cressen bowed his head as Stannis' head whipped at him like an eel in a stream

He thought he was going to be chastised until he heard a tired sigh.

"You might be right Maester. It might be my mind playing tricks on me. The King could be simply talking of a potential marriage proposal with his usual glibness and nothing more. Still, I ask of you to bring the ink and parchment." Maester Cressen bowed his head, scurrying back to his quarters so that Lord Stannis would pen his response.

As he walked on Cressen was lost in a reverie.

 _'Something's wrong with him.'_ His worried thoughts spoke out.

 _'For the first time I fear Stannis is slipping. He is losing his will.'_ He tried to banish them but yet they continued to linger.

 _'How can he be so blind? Why does he let himself suffer like this?'_ The thoughts were getting stronger.

 _'Stannis, be strong. Strong as you always are. You cannot let this melancholy take you._ ' Tears were slowly forming in his eyes. Though old and bogged down by the chains around his neck, Cressen did not feel fatigue for himself. For he was too much concerned with the burdens bogging his lord.

* * *

It had been two days since he responded to the King's letter. In that time, he continued what he usually did. Quietly skulking within the Chamber of the Painted table when he was not busy attending to his duties as Lord of Dragonstone.

Although this time he was not alone. For accompanying him was the old Lord of House Velaryon. Lucerys Velaryon had been the Master of Ships under the reign of the Mad King. Indeed, he and his House were among the first he fought when Stannis assaulted Dragonstone to drive out the last survivors of House Targaryen. Lucerys though a loyalist had found a certain respect for Stannis that he did not have for King Robert at all. Stannis left Lecery's position untouched, he had served dutifully to his lord after all and that is something that Stannis couldn't fault him for. He didn't even punish Lucerys the way he did to his friend Daavos for Lucery committed no crimes save for loyalty to a deposed king.

"So we are to expect the arrival of Lord Tywin's daughter?" Lucerys was an aging man with surprisingly average looks for one who had the Valyrian blood in them.

"Yes, I had rejected the betrothal that my King-brother suggested; but, I doubt greatly he would let the matter rest at that." Lucerys nodded his clean shaven head. The only clue of his Valyrian heritage being his weathered violet eyes.

"That is wise of you my lord. The Lannisters are a deceitful lot, unlike many houses they had elected to wait and only threw in their support for the rebellion at the very end. When it was certain that King Robert Baratheon would come out victorious." Lucerys was still bitter over the rebellion. He had lost many a kinsmen to the conflict and was especially sore over House Lannister for Lord Tywin was once a good friend of King Aerys II.

"I have heard many tales of this Cersei as well. The stories of her beauty are true, but so are the stories of her poor character. She is spoiled." Stannis wasn't surprised, the Westermen with their wealth in gold and silver were no doubt a vain people prone to floundering and ostentatious boasting. The Lannisters especially so.

"I doubt she would survive in Dragonstone without her fancy dresses and beautiful courts." Lucerys gave him a toothy grin as he said that.

"Are you suggesting she would have cause to find this marriage a deplorable one?" Well it seems misery loves company then.

"I assure you my lord. She is no doubt fretting over a marriage to you. That is to say there is nothing wrong about your character." Lucerys sheepishly rectified as he realized he was quickly breaching the courtesy needed as a vassal.

"Lucerys I do not indulge in your council because you are some sycophant. I am fully aware that many a maiden would find me and this place a hellish ordeal to bear children in. That in part explains why I have received so few a wedding proposals." Stannis said with anger.

This was what Lucerys found endearing in his new lord. He was honest to a complete fault. It was both his greatest curse and his greatest blessing.

"How soon mayhaps this new Lady of Dragonstone will arrive?" Stannis raised his hand.

"I will tell you when the raven returns. In the meantime, I ask of you to only prepare and notify the other bannerman. If she does come, I wish for her to arrive in Valeyron ships. Let her gauntlet within this place begin at the castle proper." Silence reigned for some time, Lucerys looked pensive; as if he wished to speak more.

"Is there something that troubles you lord Lucerys?" The Valyrian lord looked at him with his violet eyes. A worried frown on his face.

"I hear other rumors as well, about this Lannister girl. They say she seems no different from Aerys II." Stannis blinked.

"She's mad?" Lucerys shook his head.

"I truly do not know. This might just be simple hearsay, the gossip of insipid milkmaids. They say she indulges in curious and sacrilegious relations with her twin brother the Kingslayer. That she bursts in anger and possess a fiery temper. They might be rumors or they might be not." Stannis realized then the reason for Lucerys' discomfort.

"You worry for my safety, that she might poison me in slumber or in banquet?" Lucerys scowled. He obviously did not like that accusation.

"Why would I care for a Stormlands brute whose brother usurped the throne? Do not flatter yourself my liege." Stannis fought the urge to smile.

"Worry not lord Lucerys. If I were so easily felled by a Westermen maiden I daresay you just might have been saved a terrible fate of serving such a poor liege."

Lucerys frowned at that even if it was a mere jibe.

Stannis Baratheon was not the worst lord to be seated in Dragonstone. If given enough time he had the ability to be the greatest lord of Dragonstone in a long time.

Just then the doors to the chamber were opened and entering unannounced was a familiar face.

"Davos glad to see you've finally decided to return." Davos Seaworth was a slight man with plain looks. He had brown eyes and brown hair that were slightly graying. The smuggler turned knight flashed him a smile. Only catching himself when he noticed the presence of Lucerys.

"Lord Lucerys, that answers why there ware sigils of the seahorse billowing outside." Davos bowed deeply, a bit forgetful that he was a landed knight now and no longer of the smallfolk.

"Rest easy _Ser_ Davos. I have just finished my discussions with Lord Stannis. I shant keep you two waiting." Lucerys stood up. He was frail but that did not prevent from walking unaided towards the door.

As Lucerys and his retainers left did Davos now divulge the reason for his entrance.

"I have a letter from King's Landing."Davos said in seriousness.

"You intercepted the Maester?" This was odd.

"Not exactly. I was given this letter by King Robert himself." Stannis' jaws slightly clenched.

"So he does not even trust the ravens then?" He quietly muttered to himself.

"I was instructed to give this to you whilst I was recuperating in King's Landing. He said it was of utmost importance that I delivered this personally with the seal unbroken and that I do all in my power to convince you to comply to whatever the letter asked of you." Using Davos against him, his fears were correct.

Stannis broke the seal, and read through the second letter from his brother. This one he did not need to reread. It was concise and to the point.

"Call for Maester Cressen. You, him and I have much to talk about." Stannis said with a weary voice.

* * *

"So I take it the King has finally used his authority to make this betrothal a reality then?" Maester Cressen said with hands in his Maester robes.

"No, in fact he has made a compromise." This surprised both the Maester and Davos, compromise was not something they expected from Robert when it came to family.

"I am to entertain Lady Cersei as a guest in Dragonstone for six months. Only after those six months cam I even given the chance to reject the proposal. This an order by the King himself." Davos rubbed his chin in contemplation.

"He is trying to sway you. I doubt six months with her would be a sufficient amount of time for you to change your mind." The Onion knight said with mischief.

"If what the rumors of Lady Cersei say are true then I doubt this arrangement would last a week." Cressen said with worry.

"Even so this is what the King has ordered. Only by the end of six months can I have the right to confirm or reject this proposal. In that time I have to accommodate Lady Cersei as if we were already wed. These are the rest of capitulations within the letter." Damn that Robert, damn him for taking advantage of his sense of duty.

"I suppose she will have her own entourage to ensure no loss of her 'virtue'?" Davos said the word virtue as if it was something of a point of contestation.

"Yes, she will be accompanied by a retinue consisting of several handmaidens and a small contingent of guards headed by Ser Ilyn Payne." Cressen perked up at the mention of Payne.

"I've heard of him. He had his tongue torn out for speaking against the Mad King. He is a skilled and deadly knight." Stannis has heard of Ilyn Payne; but, that was not what concerned him however.

"What of Lady Cersei herself? What news do you bring of her?" Davos blinked unsure if he was going to answer.

"I've … heard talks that the young Lannister maiden made a tremendous scene when the betrothal was announced. Her father has done much in his power to suppress them; but, it was shameful enough that many still speak of it." Davos spoke carefully, not trusting much on hearsay.

"This is merely another piece of gossip concerning your potential wife. I fear she might not have her famed beauty in the inside as it is outside." Maester Cressen warned.

Stannis spent the longest time figuring out this Lady Cersei. After hearing what rumors spoke of her he was confident what she was about to do.

"The Lady Lannister might see it to herself to prematurely end this little arrangement through less than noble means." Stannis blurted out.

Such a grim statement brought silence unto the table.

"Do you think she's capable such a deed?"Davos said uncertain.

"Her father is Lord Paramount Tywin Lannister. She's capable of many deeds." Stannis said with a neutral tone that did not suggest he was concerned of his potential death by a woman scorned.

"Worry not my Lord. If she were to do anything than you have the right to imprison her." Stannis shook his head at Davos' words.

"Robert ordered me to treat her with utmost respect. By the full authority of the throne he sits upon. I cannot do anything to her." At his Davos blistered out incredulously.

"What of duty then? What if she shits on the gardens? What if she gives you the greatest disrespects that one could imagine?" Stannis sadly shook his head.

"By the King's order she cannot be touched." Davos palmed his forehead.

"Damn it Stannis you're being more bullheaded than usual!" Davos yelled out.

Maester Cressen himself thought similar to Ser Davos.

Stannis Baratheon's sense of duty would have made him punish Cersei regardless of the King's order.

"We must do our duty." Was all that Stannis said.

Cressen felt fear creep up in his old heart.

For he was seeing something that he long thought was impossible.

Stannis Baratheon was breaking down.


	2. A Vain Lioness

**Note: 90% books, 10% show  
Disclaimer: A Song of Ice and Fire is owned by G.R.R Martin. This is a strict non-profit venture.**

* * *

Injustice. That was the one word she could think of.

Injustice that she, the most beautiful woman on the land, would be wed to someone like Stannis Baratheon.

Injustice that the promises of marrying princes and kings told to her by father were all but falsehoods and sweet nothings.

Injustice that she was going to be taken away from the one man she loved most in the world by a man infamous for his uncaring nature.

Injustice that she would spend the rest of her life a prisoner within Dragonstone. Shitting out Baratheon spawn whilst her bastard dwarf brother would inherit the Lordship of the Westerlands.

She had finished weeping, finished begging her father to be released from her bondage. All she received was a slap to the face and a reprimand.

Her life was ruined, all because the King had married the Stark bitch. It was injustice. It was _unfair._ She was supposed to be a Queen, not some second prize for some second rate lord. Her father promised. That wicked wisewoman promised.

She was to be Queen!

She felt a hand on her shoulders. She looked up and trembled as she saw the cold eyes of her father.

Lord Tywin Lannister was an unforgiving man. He expected only unquestioned obedience in all his children. Much to their detriment.

They had traveled to Duskendale. For reasons unknown the ships that would take Lady Cersei and her entourage to her potential husband were unable or unwilling to dock at King's Landing. According to her father it might be because of the strained relationship between the King and her "betrothed".

She didn't care for it. She had already promised herself she would do all that it took to ensure this betrothal fails at any cost. Even if it required a certain boldness that many would find detestable.

"Do I need to repeat myself Cersei?" She was brought out of her thoughts as well. The strict tone of her father made her realize he was sensing her intentions.

"No-"She couldn't say anything more as she met his eyes. Those eyes that always looked at her with nothing but disappointment.

"Need I remind you the sheer importance of this union? Of how precarious the situation is with our house and that of the Baratheons? This marriage could decide our very future as Masters of the Westerlands. Do not disappoint me." Tywin warned.

This was what she hated. No one cared about her. No one respected her. Only Jaime, sweet Jaime did. All her life she was expected to do things that she didn't want to do. She resented it. If only she had been born the male twin.

Yet it was not an entirely horrible thing to be born a woman, especially one with her looks. Men after all were easily led fools who attended to her every whim with the simple batting of her golden eyelashes.

She shuddered to think just what the grim brother of Robert would do once he had but a single glance of her. Would he fall victim to her whims? Would he fall upon her like a beast?

These were the kind of thoughts that were invading her mind ever since she had heard of the news a week prior. When her husband-to-be rejected the proposal she was on the verge of celebration. Until her father wrote back to the King who ensured the betrothal would fall through.

She had not stopped crying since that night. When she was taken from her home in Casterly Rock and escorted to the Crownlands until finally reaching here.

The journey was awful, it was horrid. They didn't take a direct route to King's Landing through the Golden Road. Father had some business to attend with the Tyrells and hence they took the Ocean Road towards High Garden. Her father had elected to visit his bannerman at Crakehall and to pay his respects to House Oakheart at Old Oak. When they arrived at Highgarden proper they had spent about a week on the road.

Highgarden was beautiful, she didn't want to admit it. The Tyrells were an arrogant and stuffy lot, but at least they knew how to present themselves. She hadn't seen so many flowers and knights in shining armor in one place. Highgarden's beauty didn't calm her. In fact, in made her more restless as she realized this was probably the last time she was going to see anything close to a civilized court for some time.

Lord Mace Tyrell was a funny sort. He was such a harmless looking simpleton but, his mother was a different matter. She was the one her father talked to. She was pleasant, but was intimidating all the same.

Lady Aerie Tyrell tended to their children, there were four of them. Willas was the oldest, he was a timd boy who'd probably grow up into someone of no importance save for being heir to Highgarden; Garlan was wilder, he'd probably become a knight; Loras and Margery were too young for her to care about, she had little doubt that Margery would grow to be a girl of plain appearance that few tales would speak about.

After Highgarden they took the Roseroad to King's Landing. They encountered a small bandit band mid journey; but, they were quickly squashed for none dared to attack Lord Tywin Lannister and expect survival. At King's Landing Cersei did all in her power to meet with Jaime. Yet her father had confined her forcibly away from him. When father finished whatever business he had with King Robert they left for Duskendale. She didn't even get the chance to meet with Jaime.

She had fought bitterly to hide away her tears. The thought of her father chastising her for such a shameful display outweighed her sadness. The last time she forgot her place her father made sure to punish her accordingly. She would occasionally feel the sting flare on her backside.

When they arrived at Duskendale she truly understood the wretched existence she was about to live.

The environs of the port in Duskendale were absolutely filthy by her standards. Nothing like the glory of Kings Landing or Lannisport. This served only to worsen her perception of what life would be like upon Dragonstone.

They were now on the harbor, waiting for the ships that would take her to hell.

"They're arriving." A knight by her father's side stated obviously as distant shapes take form in the distance.

They were ugly,big ships that bore flags of a queer half horse half fish sigil. There were about a dozen of them. They were long and had many oars by their sides.

When the ships docked at the harbor men bearing the same sigil marched downwards. They were lightly equipped. They had spears and wore black shirts of mail over boiled dyed leather. At their head was an aging man with Valryian purple eyes.

"Lord Lucerys of House Valeryon." Father narrowed his eyes as he recognized the man greeting them.

"Lord Paramount." She heard the venom in his voice. It seemed he wasn't fond of father.

"I entrust my daughter to you my Lord." Lucerys nodded his shaven head.

He turned towards her. His purple eyes scanning her. He smiled.

"In the name of Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Dragonstone, Heir to the Iron Throne. I welcome you Lady Cersei." She curtsied with her best fake smile.

"I'm honoured to be a guest of Lord Stannis." She said sickeningly sweet.

As she was ready to depart her father gave her his final parting words.

"This is your duty as a Lannister. Do not fail me now Cersei." There was no hint of concern, no fatherly affections. Only talk of duty.

* * *

She met him at the portcullis beneath Dragonstone. He was everything she feared. He was boorish, had none of the handsome looks of King Robert. He was supposedly only three years older than her yet could pass for an elder man.

She wasn't supposed to be here.

The boat trip to Dragonstone was uneventful thankfully. They had allowed her to bunk in their most furnished quarters. It wasn't to her liking; indeed, she was insulted by how little it had. If this were a ship of House Lannister it would have amenities more fitting in a castle than a boat.

When they reached Dragonstone proper she was aghast. It was dark and ugly,she might as well have been living in Harrenhal; what kind of Lord would willingly rule such a dreary place?

Well her answers were quickly given when she finally met the man his father had forced her to guest with.

Stannis Baratheon was a dull man. He was more like a living statue than anything. No amount of decorum and courtesies could bring out anything more than a nod of the head. He was nothing like Jaime. Jaime was dashing, heroic and hardheaded. This Stannis was deprived of all those qualities. He was lethargic, sinister and cold. She was not going to wed such a man.

She promised herself she would end this farce.

"Lady Cersei." His voice was awful, like stones tumbling down a mountain. It hurt her ears.

"My Lord Stannis, it is ever such a pleasure to meet the brother of our good King." She flinched a bit when Stannis flashed her an ugly frown.

"Yes, I assume you are tired from your journey? It's been weeks since I've received the letter notifying me of this unorthodox arrangement." He was so boring, there was no emotion in his voice. He talked like stone too.

"Yes my lord. Our trip took longer than anticipated. As you know my father Lord Paramount Tywin Lannister is a busy man with many friends. He had earlier arrangements that needed tending to." She was unsure if Stannis Baratheon had the guile to notice the subtly of that statement. She was adamant in mentioning her powerful father so that he would know how precarious a situation he would be if he were to harm his sweet daughter.

"Then I shall have someone guide you to your quarters. After you unload your things and rest there will be a feast to celebrate your safe arrival within the Great hall. There you will have the opportunity to meet my bannermen." Cersei cringed inwardly at how he spoke. It was like speaking to a dead man.

"A celebratory feast? You are too kind my Lord." She flashed him her awe-inspiring smile.

All she received was a slight nod of the head.

"Your retainers as well have been given their own quarters." He looked towards the man by her side.

Ser Ilyn Payne was a very intimidating presence, only the Clegane brothers commanded more dread. It was no surprise then that father would charge him with her protection.

She witnessed Stannis and Ser Ilyn's gazes locking at one another and was astonished to see Illyn Payne lowering his head in deferment. He only did that for her father.

"Well. I am impressed that you had planned out so much for our arrival. If you had this level of foresight than the rest of my stay would pass without incident; but, before all of that I have one final request, I would like some bread and salt." Stannis raised his brow, understanding the intent of her request.

She wanted him to know she didn't trust him.

* * *

She didn't know what to expect. When she heard of a celebratory feast she expected something more opulent. There was no music, no merrymaking or the gossip of young maidens. It was largely a silent affair, only interrupted occasionally by the antics of Stannis' fool named Patchface.

He was a rotund and had a motely pattern on his face, likely the reason for his name. She didn't understand why the lords seated around her were laughing. He was like any other fool.

The feast they had was nothing to talk about. It was a simple three course affair. Food was laid on simple undyed linens. The first course consisted of simple soup of leeks and other smallfolk vegetables, the second was quail eggs poached with sauces of cream and dill, while the final course consisted of iced lemon cakes.

It was below average by the standards of any great court, but in this desolate place it would have been seen as a lord's feast.

A boring feast would no doubt serve boring lords and the bannermen of Stannis Baratheon seemed to share his mirthless and blank personality.

She could scarcely remember the names of any of them. All she remembered were the names of Houses. Bar Emmon, Connington, Celtiger, Sunglass, Velaryon and Seaworth. She could remember exactly only three lords; Lucerys because he had earlier met with her; Ronald Connington because his cousin was once Prince Rhaegar's greatest friend; and Davos Seaworth because he acted like more like one of the smallfolk than a lord. Which made sense considering he was merely a landed knight.

It was an unentertaining dinner but considering her original expectations it was slightly better than a messy wildlings feasting.

* * *

Moonlight and torchlight were the only things illuminating the dark halls of this place. She couldn't sleep. How could she? Every time she did her thoughts would drift towards her bleak future. Of never again seeing Casterly Rock, being the wife of such a cold distant man. She thought back of Jaimie, of his gentle touch and how she would never feel it once more.

No she couldn't sleep.

So she sneaked around. It was strange how little this place was guarded. Well considering the value of the things in this castle she doubted anyone would spend the effort of robbing it.

She was wearing her night clothes. A very loose thing of red lace in the style of Dornish fashions that she wore because of its comfort. If she were caught now she would be scandalized.

On her hand she carried a flask of wine. She didn't know exactly what it was but considering the little taste she had of it she was confident it was Arbor Gold.

At least Lord Stannis had good taste in wine.

She was lost for some few minutes until she recognized the doors that lead to what she knew as the Chamber of the Painted table. There were no guards posted by their side and it seemed empty.

Emboldened by drink and homesickness she figured looking at the table and taking a gander on Casterly Rock wouldn't hurt.

She pushed through the thick doors, entering a room that was bathed in moonlight. She walked over towards where the Westerlands were and stared deeply at the drawing of Casterly Rock.

She was supposed to be there, she belonged there and not on this hunk of useless rock. Then she decided to walk to the other side. In order to take a closer look at King's Landing and fantasize about her dear Jaimie.

She was nearly there when she realized a great black shadow seating on the lone seat next to the table. The blood in her froze.

"Out on an evening stroll?" Stannis Baratheon was seated in front of her. Hidden by the shadows like a Faceless Man.

She was panicking in her mind. She was holding a flask of wine that belonged to him, was currently walking around unchaperoned in a shameful attire. This was the end of her.

Unless…

"My lord Stannis." She giggled and flashed him a sultry smile, bending down slightly as so he could see her ample bosom.

It nary had an effect.

"Worried about your stay?" He continued without a care. With his unchanging tone.

"Why are you out so late my Lord?" Seduction didn't work, so maybe pleasant conversation would.

"Thinking about the future." She saw her chance.

"What great fortune, I was thinking of the future as well." Maybe if she were to indulge in him she might be able to escape.

"Oh? Pray tell what dogs your mind Lady Cersei." Damn it this wasn't what she wanted.

"I-….." She was hesitating now. She was afraid of jeopardizing this.

"I guess it concerns our potential betrothal." She wanted to scream out to the Seven that was she was thinking about but she couldn't. If she did he might be enraged, and that might lead to her father punishing her once more.

"Yes." She had a plan, she was going to lie. To say that she was excited.

"You want it broken." She wanted to say yes once more. Yet proper courtesy prevented her.

"No I-"

"DON'T LIE TO ME!" She felt a bolt of lightning down her spine as Stannis Baratheon rose to his great height. He shouted with such a dreadful force that she feared she would fall. She didn't know he was capable of such an outburst.

There was an awkward silence between them before Stannis sighed.

"Forgive me Lady Cersei. That was rude of me." He returned once more to his stoic façade. It was terrifying, the change in attitude.

The silence returned.

"Yes. I want it broken." She squeaked out.

"Why?" She was hesitant.

"I don't think we-" She unknowingly matched his stare. That was a mistake. Looking at him now at his great height and iron gaze. For a moment she did not see Stannis Baratheon; for but a single moment an image of Tywin Lannister appeared within her vision.

"What have I said about lying?" Stannis had become infinitely more terrifying when one realizes he was capable of great fury.

Ours was the fury. Those were the words of House Baratheon. She thought those words were mere boasts. Yet trembling now she realized they weren't. She was fearing for her safety, fearing what Stannis Baratheon would do now if she misspoke.

"I…..despise this place." What was she doing? She needed to stop. She was going to perish if she persisted.

"I hated the journey here, I hated how my father forced me from Casterly Rock and I hate how I've been separated from my dear brother." No this was foolishness. Her emotions and the wine were getting the better of her. She needed to force them down before she was going to say something she was going to regret.

"I hate you." Oh no. Her heart sank when she realized she had said those words.

He stood unmoving, nary a change in expression. As if he expected such an answer.

"Then why come here?" He asked finally. Simply.

What sort of question was that?

"My father."

"Your father what? You fear him? You want to please him? What?" This was getting too heated for her. All she wanted was to go to bed and forget this night happened.

"I have to follow his wishes." She said numbly now, it was obvious she was losing control of the situation.

"Why?" Was that the only word that he knew? Why? Why? WHY?

"Because I have to!" It was her turn to get angry now. Fear, wine and hate was a potent mixture to inebriate on.

Tears were dripping on the floor.

 _'This is your duty as a Lannister.'_ She remembered her father's parting words.

"IT'S MY DUTY! MY ACCURSED FUCKING DUTY!" She screamed out in utter pain.

She collapsed on the floor, a sobbing wreck. She hated everything, she hated this life. She was promised so much and given very little. This life was unfair.

This life was unjust.

"The rumors were right. You are spoiled." She looked up, and saw him standing over him. Her father's eyes were looking at her.

 _'Disappointing.'_ She didn't know if that was Stannis' words or her father's that she heard.

"What do you know of duty?" His tone was different, it was full of anger.

She continued sobbing, she didn't have the heart in her to reply.

"Duty is doing things you don't want to do." She mumbled out.

"You are close." What? She looked up and saw Stannis Baratheon offering up his hand.

She was at a loss for words. What was she going to do?

She reluctantly grabbed his hand, he foisted her up with a rough pull. She fell on his chest. He was wearing a brigandine cuirass so it was painful.

She looked at his blue eyes. They softened now. Her heart fluttered ever so slightly that she scarcely noticed.

"Duty is a chain, the chain that binds all men. From the lowest hedge knight to the highest lord it makes slaves of us all. Duty takes away all you love, it takes away your dreams. Yet there is one thing that duty cannot take." She was lost in his words. For it was so surreal.

She looked at him and saw a man like her father. Yet his words were not of her father. They were so different from what her father would say of duty.

"What is it? That thing duty cannot take?" She didn't know why she was so interested in what he had to say.

"Pride." She blinked, that was not the answer she was expecting.

"Duty cannot take away your pride. It can take away everything else but never pride." She could not understand. What was there to be prideful of?

"You are the lord of a crumbling castle, you command such a small number of bannerman. Why do you speak of pride?" She was starting to get comfortable talking now.

"Why not? Why do the smallfolk work? Why do the Maesters forgo their titles? It is all for pride. Even the Septons and Septas can feel pride no matter how they speak of humility. Why does your father strive for more? Why do you value your beauty? Why does the King whore around? Those who foolishly take but a single glance will say many things; the smallfolk work because they don't wish to starve, the maesters are those who are too cowardly to play the game, and so on and so forth. But that is a lie for the truth is always pride." This was a different sermon than the one she was accustomed to.

"Then what is your pride then?" She asked curiously. This was the first time she was interested in anyone other than Jaime or herself.

"My pride is duty itself." She raised her eyebrow at that.

"How is that possible?" He looked downwards at the painted table. She followed his eyes and saw what he stared at.

Storm's End.

"It was my birthright, by the laws of men and Gods. I was supposed to be its Lord. That was not to be the case. Instead I was given Dragonstone, a place of salt and fire. How can a man let such grievance pass? Those less honorable might endeavor to change his own fate and acquire what's his. That is not the path for me." She was incredulous. If she was in his position she would do anything to regain her rightful seat. This man was utterly queer in his thinking.

"Why? If by right it's yours then why not take it?

"It is not the way of duty."

Again with the talk of duty.

"Why is duty so important?" He looked at her. His eyes had a tired look to them.

"Without duty the world collapses. Without duty chaos reigns. Without duty we are less than men. Those who forsake duty forsake all that makes this world good and just." She was losing interest now. She had thought him different, now he was starting to sound like some Septon.

"You are unconvinced." She remained silent.

"If you mother did not fulfill her duty would you be standing here?" That question took her by surprise. She didn't know how to answer.

"One can hate their duty. I cannot fault them for it. Only those queer in the head will enjoy letting duty afflict them with all manner of ills. Yet I cannot forgive those who refuse to fulfill their duty. For their negligence dangers us all. Tell me what would happen if you failed in your duty to marry me if I agreed to a betrothal?" She frowned sadly.

"House Lannister would suffer." Stannis nodded.

"You will suffer. You can end my life. In fact it would be better for you. I promise you I would not make for a good husband. You can do all you can to ensure this betrothal fails.I would not hold it against you, men are weak after all. Not many are willing to suffer in duty. Yet in the end duty will find a way. She angered will ensure your life will suffer far more than it could have if you fulfilled your duty."

"Duty is cruel." She said softly.

"Yes she is cruel. The most cruelest thing in this world; but, sometimes she blesses you. That is why I fulfill my duty, why I pride on fulfilling her. For those scarce few occasions duty rewards me with gifts that I couldn't possibly imagine, that I would never receive through other means."

She looked at him now, their eyes locked for the longest time. Those dark blue orbs that she feared, were starting to become less frightening now. She was breathless. She had thought Stannis Baratheon was the most boring man in Westeros. Yet speaking now she realized he wasn't so boring at all. She felt something she didn't realize she had never felt before.

Kinship.


	3. The Onion Knight

**Note: 90% books, 10% show  
**

 **Disclaimer: A Song of Ice and Fire is owned by G.R.R Martin. This is a strict non-profit venture.**

* * *

Damn this castle. Why did it have to be so fucking big? He didn't know how long did he spend climbing up these twisting stairs, but by the Seven they needed to move the Maester's chambers. He was starting to understand why Stannis hated this place.

The Maester often nested himself within the Sea Dragon Tower. It was where the rookery was after all. Davos had no inkling of the mysterious strength that Cressen seemingly possessed to be able to climb these stairs everytime he needed to attend to his duties.

He was on the verge on wheezing when he finally stood before the chamber door. That was when he heard the loud conversation from the other side and a young maiden's tittering.

"You should have seen my- "Davos felt himself lurch forward towards the door. He had entered the room awkwardly. The two occupants staring at his ungraceful landing on the messy instrument ridden floor.

"My lord Davos!" The Maester said alarmed as he rushed by his side.

"I'm quite all right Maester Cressen. That was my own fault." Davos said chucking as the old Maester tried to pick him up.

"My Lord Seaworth." The young maiden stood and curtsied like a proper lady should. She seemed uncomfortable by his presence.

"It's alright milady." _Milady_ damn it he's been trying hard to drop that.

"My lady would you honor Ser Davos with an introduction?" Cressen asked with a smile.

"Certainly. My name is Shierle Swyft, one of Lady Cersei's handmaidens." The girl looked she had just recently reached maidenhood. She wore a fancy but muted dress that was in the color of cream with several long strands of ocean blue embroidered into the seams. She wore a small sapphire brooch on her right shoulder that was in the shape of a crying cockerel.

She herself was a beauty; but, not beautiful as one would use the word when describing the Lady Lannister, she served. She had a small heart shaped face with thick pale lips, punctuated with several light freckles. Given a few more years she would have been quite the fetching wife.

"What brings you to our good Maester lady Shierle?" Davos had come here for other reasons, but found the time to entertain the young maiden. Learning more about who served her was a step towards knowing more about Lady Cersei.

"Well my lord I thought it wise for me to learn more about Dragonstone and its environs considering we're going to be guests here for half the year." She gave a lovely smile. Davos couldn't resist smiling back. She seemed to be a kind lass.

"Although it seems that plan went awry. The kind Lady Swyft was about to the tell me the tale of how her good friend had accidentally ate horse dung." Maester Cressen was being quite vulgar.

"Maester! We have a Lord in our presence!" She exclaimed in unbelieving surprise.

"It is no worry my Lady. I assure you I have heard filthier tales." Davos gave her a mischievous wink to which she blushed in response.

"Lord Davos I've almost forgotten to mention, why are here? Do you wish for my counsel?" Davos nodded as the Maester reminded him, looking towards Lady Swyft.

"Lady Shierle, I am glad that you've happened to come on by. Tell me what do you think of a potential match between Lord Stannis and your mistress?" Davos felt wretched for putting the girl underneath their attentions. She fidgeted slightly so it seemed she was unused to it.

"Well my lords I do not think I have the insight to comment." She said carefully.

Davos sighed.

"You've served with Lady Cersei for quite some time aye? Considering her demeanor how do you think she'd match with Lord Stannis?" She looked alarmed as he mentioned demeanor.

"I'm sorry Lord Davos I cannot help you." She looked down at the floor in shame.

"Do you think it a terrible union then?" Davos questioned, he was being too cruel to the girl; but, he needed to know for Stannis' health.

"All I can see is that when Lady Cersei dreams of her shining knight she would not see Stannis Baratheon." Shierle said with a sad smile.

"Why are you so adamant about the betrothal Lord Davos?" The Maester asked.

Davos looked at the Maester, then at the young Swyft maiden and then back at the Maester.

"Stannis is acting strangely." Davos was certain he may regret saying this in the presence of a handmaiden of Lady Cersei; but, he had the naïve view that she would keep quiet.

"Should I take leave my lords?" Lady Shierle was quick enough to know when her presence would be needed elsewhere.

"No need my lady. I do not feel you would be an unwelcome aid here. For this I need the assistance of a woman, maybe a woman's advice is what can save Lord Stannis from this path." Maester Cressen raised his brow.

"You've noticed it as well? The Maester spoke quietly.

The young Swyft girl remained silent, aware that she was privy to a conversation a woman of her birth and status should not be privy to.

"Stannis has stayed here stubbornly for almost half a year now. Ever since he freed this place from Targaryan hold. He refuses to leave unless Robert himself comes and asks for him." Davos explained.

"That would be difficult." Cressen commented.

"It is; believe me I have tried many times." Cressen raised his brow once more.

"Was that why you left for King's Landing? To sway the King to welcome his brother back?" Davos looked at his eyes, nodding silently.

Cressen sighed, a deep tried sigh. He was an old man now Davos noted. Very soon he would have needed to retire to the Citadel and let a younger Maester tend to Dragonstone; however, Cressen was loyal just like he was. He would be with Stannis until the very end.

"Stannis acts as if he was exiled here. Nothing I say can make him listen to reason." The Maester said.

"I fear he suffers from illness." Davos' eyes widened in alarm. Lady Shierle as well.

Tales of Stannis' resiliency had circulated around the land. He had after all survived a year's siege of Stom's End. To think in the end, he was only just a man.

"What kind?" Davos asked grimly.

"A sickness of the mind. A great melancholy has befallen him. I have found him staying up late within the Chamber of the Painted Table just staring at Storm's End. He is not eating regularly. I dread what would happen if he continues." Davos pinched the bridge of his nose. This far worse than he had originally anticipated.

"Does this not stem from King Robert then?" Lady Shierle became scared quiet as both men looked at her.

"Lady Shierle is right. King Robert has grown ever more distant not only with Stannis but with everyone close to him as well." Davos noted.

"Lady Shierle do not be afraid. We would appreciate your insights as well." Maester Cressen smiled at her.

Shierle Swyft opened her mouth, but closed it.

"I'm of the mind that our King's isolation began with what happened between his grace and his Stark wife. Mayhaps it's maiden's gossip; but, it's what men both small and lord speak of. "She said finally after finding her courage.

"That is true, elevating Lord Stannis' burden through his brother may not be our best course of action. Which I why I came here." Davos looked at Lady Shierle once more.

"Can Lady Cersei distract our Lord Stannis until we find a permanent solution?" Maester Cressen guffawed.

"Forgive me for my impudence Ser Davos. I could have sworn you uttered distract and Stannis in the same sentence." He said while bowing, even now he chuckled quietly.

"All is forgiven. I would have done the same if you spoke mine words." Davos tried to suppress his own laugh as well.

"I do not believe this is a laughing matter my lords. You speak of my Lady whom I serve with loyalty." The sweet demure Shierle had disappeared for a short moment.

Davos sheepishly scratched his neck. While Maester Cressen straightened himself.

"We did not mean any offense." Davos muttered.

"It's alright. Indeed, I believe Lady Cersei needs distraction as well. Would the lords be surprised if I were to inform you that the Lady Lannister hates this place?" Davos and the Maester gave her a look. As if she was saying 'The sunsets at dusk' or 'King Robert is a whoremonger'.

"Although I have to warn you. If by distract you meant courtship than you will not find success. Lady Cersei has already set her eyes for someone else." Shierle bit her lip saying that. Davos was of the mind she was trying hard to hide something.

He did not find a cause to press on her.

"That's right. I doubt Stannis has any interest in romantic love. Can you tell us your understanding of what distraction is?" Davos shrugged at his words.

"Frankly anything that gets his mind off his brother or this place. It's risky but it's the only path we can take for now." Just then Lady Shierle's eyes widened in realization.

"Has a thought struck you my lady?" Maester Cressen spoke out as he noticed her look.

"I am unsure if I should tell the lords this; but, two days prior Lady Cersei and Lord Stannis had a minor encounter within the chamber of the painted table." Davos looked at Cressen who shared his bewildered look. They had talked in private?

"What time did this occur?" Two days prior would have been their initial arrival. When did they have the time for a private chat?

The lady looked out to the window, looking at the sea.

"First the lords must promise me. If the Lady Lannister knew of this, I would be severely chastised." She begged with frightened eyes.

Davos was fighting with himself. He hated this sort of skullduggery but Stannis had left him with no choice.

"I vow that Lady Cersei will hear nothing of this, Cressen?" The Maester nodded his head, echoing Stannis' response.

She gave them a relieved smile.

"Well. In the words of Lady Cersei, she had chanced upon Lord Stannis late at night. She had dared to explore the halls of Dragonstone and through chance met the Lord of Dragonstone within the chamber of the painted table. I hesitate to continue for Lady Cersei spoke many ill words about the good Lord Stannis." Davos waved his hand for her to go on. He had heard many mockeries of Stannis Baratheon so it was nothing new.

"She spoke of how he was such a scary brute. About how he just stood there and took her witty japes. We tittered of course, we had to. She said he lectured her about duty and how ultimately he was a foolish man of no significance whose greatest achievement was a potential betrothal to a Lannister wife." Davos clenched his fists, imagining Lady Cersei speaking those words made his blood hot.

"Yet oddly she spoke highly of him as well." At this Davos raised his brow.

"She called him a good man. "Aye she might be arrogant but Lady Cersei was right in calling Stannis a good man but was that really praise?

"Cersei _never_ uses a good man the way most would. She thinks it an insult, a jape at those who she thinks are self-righteous and ignorant of world's harsh truths. Yet when she called Stannis a good man. I heard envy in her voice, respect even." Davos stroked his beard.

"I should not be telling you this my lords. Even if you swore in secrecy not to tell; however, I have known Lady Cersei for some time and never have I seen the face she had when she called Stannis Baratheon a good man." Lady Shierle had an excited look in her eye, as if she was regaling a tale of romance.

He did not have the heart to dash such imagination.

"I do not think it will end the way you think it does Lady Shierle. I doubt the Lady Lannister would fall in love with Stannis just because he is a good man. There are many good men in Westeros. I also doubt Lord Stannis would reciprocate those feelings if such was the case. He is a strict man whose expectations of what a wife is would be fulfilled by few women." Lady Shiele's earlier enthusiasm was slightly dented. She did not seem willing to let her hopes perish.

Still, in any normal circumstance Stannis would have told Cersei to return to her chambers. Then again Stannis would not normally spend the entire night sulking.

They were about to continue discussing a way to placate the lord and lady they served when they heard hurried steps. A harried household guard forced himself him. Out of breath and wide eyed.

"Milord Davos. Lord Stannis is meting out justice." He gasped out.

Davos held the man by the shoulder, assisting him as he tried to catch himself.

"Be more specific man." The pig nosed guard took one last deep breath.

"He's facing off Ser Emett Bar Emmon in a trial by combat!"

* * *

"Ser Davos. It seems you've missed all the fun." Lady Cersei said as she saw the flustered face of the Onion Knight. They were seated above a palisade dug into the earth like a pit, located within the courtyard in Stone Drum's shadow.

Stannis had this impromptu fortification built, another disturbing change in Stannis' behavior. It's quickly found name described what its purpose was.

The Bitter Stag's Gallows.

The handmaidens by Lady Cersei's side were present, Lady Shierle included. All of them were equally young, none older than fifteen if he ventured a guess.

The one directly seated next to Lady Cersei wad a 'plump' woman. Davos found it inaccurate to call her fat, she was on the precipice and if she wasn't careful she would find herself not fitting most of her clothes. Her dress that was tailored in sky blue and sunflower yellow was expertly crafted to accentuate her curves. Her face was oval shaped with a button shaped nose and thin but luscious lips. She had sparkling blue eyes that were fixated mesmerized by the battle below. On her golden Lannister like hair was a triangular hairpin passing through a sun.

After her was a tall and large woman garbed in a dress of earthen colors, surprising for Westermen. Her hazel hair reached only her chin and she had a tall face with a long bony nose, her cheeks were full and she had a strong jaw with barely visible lips. Her brown and fixed on him, she had caught him staring and her scowl suggested she didn't like it.

He quickly looked to the third and final handmaiden.

She was small but emanated an intimidating presence. She wore a veil that covered her face and wore a dress made of lace colored in the night. He did not know where she was looking at. She seemed more like a Silent Sister than a noble lady.

Lady Cersei had an interesting entourage that he could admit.

What was more interesting was the fight below. It had already began and from what he gathered it involved the Lord of House Bar Emmon. Ser Emett had allegedly raped a smallfolk woman, one widowed early in life with no family. Her plight was brought to his attention by a knight of House Celtiger. Ser Emett did not have the patience for Stannis' deliberation and directly called for a trial by combat.

The Lord of Bar Emmon was garbed in a silver tinted plate armor. It's vambrances had scales crafted into them; the rondels shaped into swordfish; a tabard bearing the sigil of Bar Emmon stained in blood and mud; and on his head was an armet helmet with a sculpture of a flying swordfish on its top. It was needlessly ornate.

Stannis on the other hand wore plate armor that was more plain utilitarian, in the color of dull steel grey. It bore no signs of his House colors or sigil. The only thing of note was his burgonet helmet which had two small antlers jutting from its crown.

"You are injured Lord Emett. Surrender now and be judged for your crimes." Stannis' muffled voice spoke out.

The Lord of Bar Emmon yelled out, attacking Stannis Baratheon with a great sword in an overhead strike. Stannis easily sidestepped it and tripped him with the bastard sword in his hand.

He fell head first into fresh mud, struggling to get up. Lady Cersei tried to stifle a laugh.

Davos breathed out in annoyance, he had missed most of the fight already. Emett Bar Emon dropped his weapon and his threw his helmet away. The Lord of Bar Emon was not a handsome man. He had a fat nose and thick rough lips with full cheeks and a sharp jawline. His bare skull was glistening with sweat and speckles of blood were on his chin and lips.

"Do it then." He dared with a mocking smile.

"Have your justice! Show to your bannerman they you value the lives of smallfolk more so than theirs!" He declared dramatically.

Some of Stannis' bannerman had remained two days after the feast, likely trying to curry favor with the new Lord of Dragonstone.

Davos even spied some among them in the seated crowd.

"Come." Stannis gestured towards a young looking smallfolk girl who was standing beside the stair that served as the pits exit.

She walked with fear as she stared at the kneeling Lord of Bar Emon. Ser Emett eyes widened in shock.

"Why is she here?" The girl had reached Stannis' side.

"This is the woman that you have raped. With the testimonies of your fellow knight and the strength of just arms you have been found guilty of defiling the property of your Lord and of breaking your knightly oaths." He turned towards the girl, nodding his head silently.

Davos was confident he knew what was going to happen next.

Stannis gave the girl a dagger from his belt. He whispered something into her ear. The peasant girl lunged at Lord Emett, stabbing the dagger furiously into his neck. Screaming and crying with every jab of the blade.

There were gasps and cries of alarm among the audience. Only Davos remained calm. He took a glance at Lady Cersei who's mouth slightly dropped in surprise.

After the smallfolk girl was done Stannis raised his hand.

"Guards! Take this woman away and hang her for the murder of a noble lord." Soon guards descended, clasping iron chains on the bloody girl who just stood catatonically, with a serene and content smile on her face.

"He's hanging her? When he told her to do it?" The plump handmaiden of Cersei asked out with a horrified expression.

"She had killed her rapist. Why kill her too?" The tall woman asked in uncomfortable confusion.

"So cruel…." The veiled woman spoke with a sweet high-pitched voice.

They didn't understand. This was Stannis' justice. This was true justice. Most likely Stannis had informed her beforehand that this would have been her fate.

Good deeds did not wash away the bad. Bad deeds did not sully the good.

This was the same justice that had been given to him. He wore it around his neck, the pouch that had the finger joints taken from his left hand.

They couldn't understand.


	4. A Lovestruck Lioness

**Note: 90% books, 10% show  
**

 **Disclaimer: A Song of Ice and Fire is owned by G.R.R Martin. This is a strict non-profit venture.**

* * *

She was curious. It happened often when something had excited her. Like when the first time Jaime and her intertwined in both soul and body. When they first made that most intimate of physical contact. She was curious about something she did not expect to be worthy of such frivolities.

Stannis Baratheon, The Bitter Stag and Lord of Dragonstone.

That was what she heard from the noblefolk who spoke ill of him. An ill favored second brother who had incurred the wrath of his brother King Robert when he confronted him about his Wolf-wife.

She had thought him as simply a jealous man, who was blind to his inadequacies and too slow to grasp the game of thrones.

And yet.

When he had that woman hanged, after she had slain one of his bannermen. She felt something that she thought she wouldn't have when she was first told she was to be staying here.

Jealously.

She had saw the looks on his bannermen's faces, all of them cowed like cattle. They feared him. When he had allowed the smallfolk woman to kill her rapist and then hanged her she was entranced. This was the justice of Stannis Baratheon.

It was cruel, yet to her it was fair. A life for a life.

Her handmaidens soon after were terrified. When they returned to their quarters all they spoke was of the savagery of their host. It made her sigh in consternation. Her father would often do the same sort of deeds hence why she wasn't as struck by it.

"I dread staying here for another month." Those were the words of Leonella Lefford, they were now in their bedchambers preparing for sup.

The fat girl was the younger sister of Lady Myranda Lefford now Lannister, a goodwife of Cersei's own mother. Cersei thought her a bubbly cretin too caught up in a fairy tale view of the world.

"Calm down Nel, just don't get on Lord Stannis' bad side." The tallest of her handmaidens spoke. Melessa Crakehall was the most realistic of her handmaidens. She was fully aware her homely looks would not have promised her many marriage opportunities. In part her service under Cersei was an effort by her father to find a suitable and promising husband.

"Mel, have you seen him? I think his bad side is all there is….." Nerissa Banefort was a painfully timid girl who possessed a queer derangement of the mind. According to her Maester she was gripped by a crippling fear of men's gazes, a fear so powerful that she had resorted to cover her face with a veil whenever out in public. The girl had small lips, a petite beak nose, greenish-blue eyes, dark hair and was incredibly pale. She was also the most endowed among them, hiding her blessed body under layers of lace to conceal it. Cersei would not admit but she was probably the most attractive of her handmaidens. A pity it was wasted on such a girl.

"I think all of you simply misunderstand." Shierle Swyft was the cunning one among them, she looked sweet and kind; but, had the mind to survive in the courts and the sufficient 'humility' to not use those skills to her advantage. Indeed, that was why she was the handmaiden she trusted the most.

"Do you fancy the Lord of Dragonstone Shierle?" Cersei faintly smiled as she saw the redness flare up on her handmaiden's cheeks.

"My lady. I simply believe that Lord Stannis could not be such a terrible man." She stuttered out her response.

"How can you say that? Didn't you see how he hanged that poor smallfolk woman? She was raped!" Leonella was annoyingly self-righteous. The type that Cersei had initially though Stannis would be. She thought that the laws of gods and men were right and just. Such flowery conceptions of the world lead to the deaths of many innocent maidens.

"She slew a nobleman which by law must be answered with death."Leonella was quick to silence herself once Cersei spoke up. None of them dared to talk back to the Lady Lannister.

"Do you think him the sort of man who'd be a good husband?" Cersei giggled.

"Please Leonella your naivety will spell the end of you one day. Stannis is no doubt a cold and unforgiving man with no inkling of gentleness or tenderness. I would wager he'd fuck me only for the purpose of siring an heir and pretend I didn't exist once I did my duty in childbirth." Leonella blushed at the vulgarity of Lady Cersei's words.

"Are you okay with it my Lady?" Cersei stared at Leonella not with the judging and look of contempt she usually did; but, a softer sadder one.

"I don't know." Cersei spoke softly.

"I think you may like him Lady Cersei." All eyes were focused on the Swyft maiden

"Pardon?" Cersei said dangerously. She never liked it when someone assumed something for her.

"Forgive me for such an impudent statement; but, I believe Stannis might not be such a horrendous match." She bowed like her life depended on it.

"Pray tell why you think such is the case?" More and more Cersei's voice growled like the beast that was stitched on her blouse.

"Stannis is a good man." Cersei blinked, disarmed by that answer.

"The good Lady complains always about how men are such liars. That they never speak the truth to you and how it always leaves you in consternation. Stannis Baratheon never lies. I believe he has never told a lie in his life." Cersei inclined her head slightly.

"Just because Stannis is a good man does not mean I should like him. In fact, it would make me despise him all the more. Good men would have me punished for my peculiarities." The handmaidens present suppressed the need to comment on that. They all had the vaguest clue of what activities Lady Lannister participated in with her twin brother.

"Good men are useless. They speak ideals but are blind to how the world works. They try to force it to confirm and only encounter resistance. Good men are fools who die in the end." Cersei believed in those words. Believed it with all her heart. Her grandfather was a good man, and he was awarded with cruelty by his own vassals. Her mother was a good woman, but she perished in childbirth and cursed their family with an ugly dwarf. The gods did not care for good men, neither would she.

Then an image of Stannis Baratheon manifested in her mind. She saw the look of resentment, how he stared with utter hatred at Storm's End.

She couldn't help but see herself on him. She felt wronged by her father for abandoning her here. She hated the Gods for making her the female twin, cursing them with that bastard Tyrion. She wanted to become powerful so she would make her own decisions.

Yet Stannis was maddeningly different, that difference was why she was so obsessed with him. For even with all that's happened to him he still believed futility in his useless duty. It irked her that someone of a similar mind would willingly continue doing the deeds that put them in such a situation to begin with.

And what irked her the most was how Stannis felt much more powerful than her. She was the daughter of the most powerful lord of the Seven kingdoms while he was the younger hated brother of the King. There were rumors that King Robert himself would have branded Stannis a bastard if he did not sire an heir with his Stark wife and pass the throne to Renly.

How then does this forgotten Baratheon inspire so much awe and wits robbing fright in her? When she stood beneath his gaze she felt like she was a child once more chastised by her father.

Her father.

Stannis Baratheon reminded her so much of the man. It terrified her. Even now she was shaking at the thought of having sup with him.

Stannis Baratheon made her feel so small and helpless. She hated that, she wanted to have the same effect on others. She wanted to learn from him, learn how to be feared.

Was that why she was so curious about him?

* * *

Ser Davos was an oddity to her. A smallfolk smuggler turned knight, the tale of his knighthood seemed consistent with what little she's learned of Stannis Baratheon.

"He took all the joints on my left hand, and gave me knighthood." He was surprisingly polite and well-mannered for someone who was a criminal just a few years ago. Even so she barely tolerated his presence.

There was a purpose to her conversing with him during sup.

"What sort of woman does Lord Stannis fancy?" Davos stared at her just as he was about to bite into buttered, toasted bread. He closed his eyes, momentarily thinking of what to say.

"I cannot say. Lord Stannis never makes mention of it." Useless.

"Is he a pillowbiter then?" Ser Davos almost choked at that.

"I assure you my Lady that Stannis Baratheon very much enjoys the other sex." He goofily smiled.

"How are you so sure?" Davos took the time to shallow.

"Lord Stannis expects himself to sire sons as to inherit Dragonstone. For that he needs a good dutiful wife." Cersei fought the urge to retch.

"Do you think I'm up to such a task?" Ser Davos became more subdued.

"That depends on Lord Stannis." Lady Cersei wasn't even sure why she bothered starting this conversation. It gave her nothing but speckles of spit and food on her fine dress.

It looked like she needed to ask directly from the source.

* * *

She expected him to still be seated here late at night. Staring at the painted table, at his stolen birthright. She was wearing a more "modest" attire now. A long flowing gown that was stitched in the rich blood red Lannister colors. He however was still armed in the same old brigandine, as if he was hoping some sort of siege on the castle would save him from the banality of his current existence.

"Again you remain awake walking through my halls. Are you still thinking about the future?" Cersei steeled herself, never letting her eyes astray from his own. She was not going to surrender.

"Forgive me Lord Stannis; but, I have been meaning to ask you a question that requires private audience." Stannis Baratheon gestured with his hand.

"Voice them." He said in monotone.

"What sort of wife would you wish for my Lord?" Stannis stared unfazed by such a strange question.

"What every man wishes for. One of sound mind and strong of body to sire many heirs." Cersei was not convinced.

Men aren't that simple.

"Of course; but, some men have their preference. There are men who fancy Dornish wives that are wild in will and passion, others a good Riverlands wife who speak with kindness and even those who fancy cold and strong Northern wives." Stannis didn't seem interested in what she had to say.

"What kind of wife would you be then?"

"Any sort of wife you wanted." Stannis Baratheon snorted at that.

"I did not think the Lannisters to be such spineless pussy cats." Cersei bristled at that, angered by the insult to her house.

"You dare mock my house Lord Stannis?" Stannis stood up. Planting his hands on the table and looked towards the Westerlands, towards Casterly Rock.

"You are the one disrespecting your house with such sycophantic mewlings. A lion's pride is unquestionable, do not insult my intelligence by pretending you care enough to be the good wife." Cersei bit her lip, a bit taken back that Stannis wasn't as much of a fool that she thought he was.

"Then why am I here if you do not believe I would be a good wife?" Stannis looked at her queerly.

"This arrangement was foisted on me without my consent. Did you think I suddenly changed my mind when I denied it the first time? I do not second guess." So if it were up to him she wouldn't even be here?

"So you are like me then? Forced into a union we both do not want?" Stannis tapped his fingers on the old wood of the table.

"Then cannot we break it then?" Stannis stared at her.

"Did you forget the words from our earlier nightly dalliance? This is beyond us. This union is not our union but that of our houses. Baratheon and Lannister united through marriage." Stannis spoke bitterly.

She remained quiet, confident if she continued he would start ranting about duty.

"So is this to be my fate? Just a mere tool for my father? For my house? Even if I hate you?" She was getting scared now. Her emotions were running wild, and she getting impulsive. She worried the day when Stannis' patience would run out.

"That is our duty." Again once more without fail he says that word. No emotion, no nothing. Only a dull voice.

"My duty is to shit out Baratheon children? My duty is to wed a man incapable of love?!" She gasped and closed her mouth with her hands. Horrified by what she had said.

She looked at him, a dead look on his eyes.

"Do you think that is all to being a wife?" He spoke with a dangerous edge to his voice.

She recovered slightly, finding herself once more in another lecture.

"It isn't?" Even so, Stannis didn't seem to be a Septon who preached blindly. He seemed to have awareness of the world they lived in.

"A wife's duty is no less difficult than a husband's." She was always frustrated whenever men like Stannis talked. It confused her.

"Who do you think births the great men of legends? Who do you think raises them? Shapes their character? A good wife and mother can create a great man. A terrible mother can ruin kingdoms. Maegor Targaryen was a terrible and cruel king, and he became so because of his cold mother Visenya." She had a vague knowledge of history, but even she knew about Aegon's sister-wives.

"Did your own mother not teach you about a wive's duty?" She felt a deep stab to her heart.

"My mother died when I was young." She spoke with anger and sadness.

For the first time Stannis had a look of surprise. His dark blue eyes widened.

"Did you not know of this my lord?" It was now her turn to ask questions.

He remained quiet, quickly regaining his composure.

"It seems I have been getting lax. I recalled of such a thing but have forgotten. Forgive me." Even taken by surprise he seemed cool and collected.

"I heard a same fate befalling your own mother." That was the few things she bothered to learn about Stannis Baratheon, mostly because it resonated with her in a superficial manner.

Stannis' face tightened, the edge of his lips curled into a bitter expression.

"Are you willing to suffer in duty to be forever conjoined to an arrogant Lannister wife?" She spoke with renewed confidence; under the impression she was now with the advantage.

She was wrong.

"Are you truly a Lannister?" She blinked, her golden eyelashes batting as she tried to make sense of the question.

"Do you not see the colors I wear?" She spun as she tried flourishing her gown.

"Not once did you step foot here did I feel a Lannister from you." Her heart sank. She tried her best to hide it.

"By what right does the stag judge a lion?" She growled back.

Stannis seemed unimpressed.

"By every right. The lion is a hunter, the stag its prey. Yet if the lion proves weak the stag feels unthreatened. I do not feel threatened in your presence. "She grinded her teeth, incredulous at how the stag was talking down on her.

"I am the daughter of Tywin Lannister!" She declared loudly.

"Then the stag should fear the father and not the lioness?"

She stepped back, as if she had been dealt a physical blow. She found herself incapable of responding for it was the truth.

It was her father that men feared.

It was then that Stannis grew enraged.

"Look at you. That stupid face you have. You are no lion; you are a cub abandoned in the wild." Stop.

"Is this what passes for pride? With just a sentence you are struck dumb. What sort of lion limps away when faced with words? "Stop it please.

She felt tears welling up. She didn't want to cry in front of him. Not in front of a _stag_.

"You are recoiling away from a stag. You insult your ancestors and your house. Stop stepping back now!" She froze. Stannis Baratheon was demanding her to desist.

"Why do you care about me being a Lannister?" She spoke with a wavy and pained voice. Tears streaming down from her emerald eyes.

"We must all do our duty." What?

"What do you mean?" She choked back her tears now, regaining her bearings.

"I see in you the makings of a great Lannister. Arrogant, vain, ostentatious, audacious, witty, quick and duplicitous. Ser Davos is of the mind you are a deceitful snake. Yet even he with his keen senses admits he is incapable of detecting your true intentions, which speaks greatly of your capacity for treachery." She didn't believe what she was hearing.

"You think treachery a virtue?" She laughed out.

"For a Lannister? Yes. You forget your words. The words of your house. Every house abides by them. The Tyrells say 'Growing Strong' and they are quickly becoming a powerful house, the Stark's say 'Winter is Coming' and as Lords of the North it is apt. Mine own words is 'Our's is the Fury' and all Baratheon men are cursed with terrible temper." She remained speechless.

"The Lannisters are arrogant, all that they have is their pride. Without their pride they are nothing. It is pride that built their house. Lann the Clever gained Casterly Rock as a seat through his audacious wit stemming from his pride. It was pride that allowed Loren to survive the field of fire. It is a Lannister's duty to sow and harvest this pride; to hold unto it. For if they do not they betray their house word's, they betray the duty imposed on them by their ancestors and by Aegon when he created the Iron Throne."

"So…you want me to be _more_ prideful?" She couldn't understand. What was Stannis Baratheon trying to say?

"Not exactly. Pride is the Lannister strength and weakness. Just as how fury has been the curse and strength of my own House. It was fury that cost King Argilac his life and it was pride that made Tommen the second of his name the last Lannister bearer of Brightroar." He knew so much of her House's history. It amazed her. He even knew the more obscure figures of her bloodline.

"What I expect from you is to fulfill your duty to your own house, to your own station as a woman. For I cannot stand those who do not fulfill their duties. You are a Lannister. Your house is of arrogance, of vanity and ambition. In your veins run the blood of an ancient line that stretches thousands of years. You are the most beautiful woman of the land, yet more importantly you carry with you the key to your father's ambition. You are given control of the fate of House Lannister. Will you fulfill your duty to your House?" She didn't realize until now but there was truth to his words. This betrothal was critical for her House's fortune. If she did not see it through her father would suffer.

"What are your words?" She looked down at the floor, a bit embarrassed.

"Hear me roar…" She spoke so softly that it was like a whisper.

"That is your roar? No wonder I do not fear you! Speak louder!" She clenched her fists and stared at her with resolute emerald eyes.

"HEAR ME ROAR!" She spoke so loudly that the very stone of Dragonstone shook.

She took in deep laborious breaths as she felt all of her fears and troubles melt away. She looked at him.

He had a small smile. It made her heart flutter.

"What a fearsome roar! I fear it has awoken my entire garrison. Never forget those words. Those are not only your house words but yours as well. It is not your father's roar nor your brother's. Your roar, the one thing duty has given for you to own. You are a Lannister, no matter what happens no matter what you suffer in your fulfillment of your duty no one can take your roar. It is yours by blood and by right. You are a daughter of lions. Nothing can never take that away from you. Yours is pride and audacity and ambition. You are no Dornish harlot, no Riverlands maid or Northern warrior woman. You are of the Westerlands."

She understood.

She finally understood.

She knew why he was always sitting here, why he was sulking. He was doing it out of his duty to his House. He was a Baratheon and his was the fury. She finally realized that when Stannis was talking to her he was in fact talking to himself as well. It was his own way of convincing himself he was doing the right thing. Why didn't she realize this sooner?

They were interrupted as men of Stannis' household guards entered alarmed by the loud noises. After that both had decided it was about time they retired to their bed chambers.

* * *

When she felt the sweet comfort of her bed she thought she would have had an easy sleep; but, as she neared the joys of slumber her mind drifted back to her earlier conversation with Lord Stannis.

Why she thought? She had already satisfied her own curiosities. Stannis Baratheon was indeed a sad man who was trying to tell to himself he was fulfilling his duty in a wasted afforded of justifying his stubborn pride. Why then did she still think of him?  
 _  
You are a Lannister, no matter what happens no matter what you suffer in your fulfillment of your duty no one can take your roar. It is yours by blood and by right._

She remembered her father saying something similar, reinforcing her view that Stannis was a poor man's Tywin; but, the way he said it was completely different. Tywin chastised, what Stannis did was encourage. Tell her to be greater than she thought she was.

 _Those are not only your house words but yours as well. It is not your father's roar nor your brother's. Your roar, the one thing duty has given for you to own._

HER roar, for the first time someone had cared to mention her roar as well.

 _I see in you the makings of a great Lannister._

She felt her heart, how its beating was hastening.

She couldn't.

She tried to banish those thoughts. She tried to banish the thoughts of an ugly Stannis Baratheon smiling as she declared loudly her house words.

She tried to think back to Jamie. Of sweet Jamie who she loved with all her heart and who-

 _You are the most beautiful woman of the land_

Stannis Baratheon does not lie. He meant those words. He honestly thought she was the most beautiful woman of the land.

No, this was foolish! Her heart was simply being fickle! This is merely a maidens fancy! Her heart and very soul belonged to Jamie her on-

 _You are a daughter of lions. Nothing can never take that away from you._

She grasped her chest and cursed her heart for its infidelity. She had barely known Stannis Baratheon for a week whilst she had known Jamie for all her life.

 _You are no Dornish harlot, no Riverlands maid or Northern warrior woman. You are of the Westerlands._

Jaime was daring, he was handsome and dashing. He always complimented her, said more sweeter and more romantic things that a man like Stannis would find impossible to say. So why then?

 _What are your words?_

"Hear me roar." She whispered out.

She was terrified.

She had fallen in love with a stag. _  
_


	5. A Furious Stag

**Note: 90% books, 10% show  
**

 **Disclaimer: A Song of Ice and Fire is owned by G.R.R Martin. This is a strict non-profit venture.**

* * *

"She's a nuisance." Davos eyed his liege lord as he shifted through the unsealed letters given to him by Maester Cressen. Thankfully they were now in the solar, it had been so long since they were seated here, far from the Painted Table that showed Storm's End.

"Lady Cersei?" Stannis did not show any acknowledgement of the name, focusing on the letter that once had the seal of House Bar Emmon.

"She is selfish and weak." He spoke plainly, neatly folding the letter and placing it atop a pile.

"Anything interesting?" Stannis took another letter, this one bearing a familiar seal; A sword crossed with a falling star on silver. It was an unexpected one.

"Nothing in particular, I have a new bannerman." Stannis broke the curious seal, reading through its contents.

"I suppose you believe her inadequate of being a good wife?" Stannis for the first time since the conversation stared back at him.

"What I believe does not matter. This is our duty." Even Davos whom he believed knew him best needed to be reminded from time to time.

"A good wife breeds a good line. You have a duty to your lordship to sire good heirs." Stannis grinded his teeth at this reversal. He was right.

"I think Lady Cersei makes a good Lannister." That was truth, she was a wily ambitious braggart.

"But does she make a good Baratheon?" Stannis sighed deeply.

"It's been only a fortnight Ser Davos. May you allow me some time to know the lady first?" Davos raised his brow at that.

"I've heard from the guards that you've been speaking to her at night. Is that not time enough." Well it looked like stories of his nightly encounters with Lady Cersei were spreading.

"Mere distractions." Davos chuckled at those words.

"When have you ever afforded yourself the time for such things?" Could the man not just leave him be and give pause so he can read the damned letter?

"Cersei is a girl. Even if flowering with her moonblood she is like a babe." If honesty was what Davos wanted than he would give him honesty.

"You are a harsh man my lord Stannis. I would have expected you to be harsher on her for being so soft." Stannis thought back that particular night now. In another time he would have simply banished Cersei from the room and order her to return to her bedchambers. So why entertain her with his ramblings?

"She needed to know of her duty." Stannis realized now that there was something wrong. Why had he been conversing with the Lannister girl in the first place?

"Yet you seem to not know your own." He was stunned into silence. Once more the Onion Knight has proven himself to be his greatest source of counsel.

"Stannis you need to stop torturing yourself. You are the Lord of Dragonstone, though not a rich place you must administer it faithfully. Stop partaking in pointless exercises, stop staying late at night staring at the painted table thinking that sulking solves your ill fortunes. You must stop ignoring your duties." Stannis trembled.

"You are right Ser Davos. It seems I have been failing in my appointments." Stannis returned back to the letter. Thankful that Davos was now giving him the time to swallow its contents.

"Although that does not mean you should stop conversing with the Lady Lannister." Davos said just as he was finished reading.

"You tell me to do my duty yet accommodate Lady Cersei?" Davos nodded with a glib smile.

"Frankly you my lord need something to keep your mind off this dreary place. A mischievous Lannister minx is sure to do so." Stannis shifted in his seat and bent nearer to the Onion knight.

"You want me to court her?" Stannis stated disbelieving, as if Davos somehow forgot who he was conversing with.

"I mentioned nothing of the sort. A bored lion is a deadly lion." Stannis closed his eyes, rubbing his temples.

"Should I hold a tourney then? Or a fanciful court with mummers and minstrels?" Davos guffawed.

"We should get a dwarf! It is sure to remind her of home!" Stannis grimaced at his friend's lunacy.

"I'm being serious Ser Davos. How does one entertain a lion?" Davos simply shrugged his shoulders.

"I'm sure you will find a way." The man grinned.

"A stag does not entertain a lion. She's been quiet this past week. I cannot fathom what she's planning." Davos' grin disappeared, a strange look on his face.

"I hear she's been spending time discussing something with the Maester." The Maester? That was odd.

"Has Maester Cressen ever made mention of what their conversation entailed?" Davos shook his head.

"A pity, speaking of the Maester I have need for him. I need to pen a le- "At that moment the sound of a knock reverberating throughout the open air solar. Stannis gestured to Davos who opened the door, both men surprised by who was entering.

"Lady Cersei." She entered hands held together, a surprisingly subdued dress of a simple sheet of red covering her body. It was strangely modest thing for the Lannister maiden.

"My lord Stannis. My apologies for interrupting you but I have some news to inform you of." Following quickly behind her was Maester Cressen, a very apprehensive look on his wizened leathery face.

"What is it?" Stannis spoke to the point whilst waving towards a free seat on the table. The lady Cersei obliged him and gracefully sat down. A new haughty look on her face. One that was far subtler than usual.

She was starting to feel like a Lannister now.

"With the assistance of Maester Cressen I believe I can make a strong case towards King Robert concerning your plight." Stannis' gaze shifted towards the Maester who bowed his head in obvious embarrassment and worry.

"With your permission I would like to visit King's Landing and present to the King about your legal rights as lord of Storm's End." Davos gaped and Cressen shook his head. Stannis meanwhile just stared at her, trying to glance what her motives were from her face.

He stared at her golden lashes, her soft lips and smooth skin. Yet he did not see some young summer maid.

All he saw was a lioness on the hunt.

"What does the Maester think of this?" Cressen scrambled to his feet at his mention.

"M-My lord throughout this entire week Lady Cersei has been most curious about histories concerning legal disputes of titles and lordships. I-I didn't know that she was doing I- "Stannis raised his hand, his dark blue eyes never wavering from the light green eyes of the lioness.

"Does the Lady Cersei have a strong case?" Cressen bowed his head.

"On paper yes. The history of the Riverlands have in particular proven to be helpful considering how their centralized position means many claims between the Vale, the North, the Westerlands and the Reach have needed to be resolved to- "Stannis raised his hand again, Cressen silencing himself in obedience.

"Do you believe it will convince the King?" Cersei curtly shook her dainty head.

"No." She responded simply, mimicking the stag.

"Then why do you bother?" She tilted her head to the side.

"Do you not know a lady's weapon is courtesy my lord? Where courtesy fails, guile takes charge. My visit is not to change the King's mind. It is to remind him that he has a brother." Stannis jaws slightly clenched. He scanned her face more thoroughly. Trying to see if she was just saying empty promises.

He felt trepidation when he saw nothing.

He was starting to regret reminding Cersei that she was a Lannister.

"Robert knows I exist. Else he wouldn't have arranged this farce of a betrothal." Cersei smirked, a haughty and self-assured curling of the mouths edges that oozed out arrogance.

"He sees you a bannerman, not a brother." Stannis' heart was gripped by a momentary rage. His nostrils flaring up and his irises widening like plates. Davos moved in his seat uncomfortable as he saw the change in his lord's demeanor. Very few people could get such a rise out of Stannis Baratheon that he became on the verge of proving why their's was the fury.

He was now regretting reminding the Lannister bitch that she was a lion.

Inconceivable, a stag teaching a lioness how to hunt and kill. He might as well have been a doe instead.

"Why do you even waste your time in such frivolities?" Stannis spoke out bitterly.

"I am to be a lioness wedded to a stag. It is obvious that this marriage will be taking place. How can I take comfort in my pride when my children are born to rule a rock in the middle of the sea and not their birthright as the true lords of Storm's End?" Stannis grinded his teeth. She had so masterfully used his very words against him.

Cersei Lannister was a mimic, yet he wondered if she had any original thought on her own.

"You are not yet a stag's wife. Stop pretending you are the lady of this holding." Finally, Cersei's cool facade had dissolved as he said those words. Her face contorting into one of wounded pride, vain anger and … pain?

"I come here with good intentions and to offer aid and all you do is to insult me?" She asked in indignation.

"Your help is not appreciated; you think things too simple. Do you not know the extent of Robert's fury? If you were to saunter in into King's Landing, into the Red Keep. Imagine then that you stand before the court of King Robert, in front of his beloved Stark wife. You say what you say, mentioning how some trifle between House Bracken and Blackwood or House Frey and every other Riverlands house somewhat compels him the duty of giving me, his hated brother, the seat of Storm's End. Now what do you think will happen? What would Robert do? Even the weight of the Lannister name will not protect you fully." Every word further and further deflated Cersei Lannister and by the end of it she seemed no different than that summer maiden who cried in tantrum within the chamber of the painted table.

"Forgive me my lord." She spoke softly, defeated.

"You do not need my forgiveness. What you need is foresight. Even if you had a sounder plan of gaining my birthright I would forbid you still." Cersei looked at him, a confused expression.

"Why not? Are you so stubborn as to refuse help?"

"I refuse to have others suffer for my petty desires." Cersei was dumbfounded.

"Storm's End is not petty!" She stood up, less haughty and more shock.

"It is your birthright! It is your home!" She spoke animated, with a passion he did not expect.

"You deserve it!" He deserved it. What made her say such a thing?

"You suffered the power of the Reach! You drove out the Targaryen's from this very castle! You suffered in your duty and all you receive is this desolate place!" Why was she getting so heated up? This did not concern her at all.

"Where is your pride?! Where is your damned pride! As a woman I cannot inherit Casterly Rock through normal means, but you are second in line to the throne and true Lord of the Stormlands! IF I WAS YOU I WOULD DO EVERYTHING FOR STORM'S END!" Stannis wanted to chastise her, remind her once more why duty did not permit such a thing.

She was ragged, her voice breaking. She was flustered, angry at him. She was like a child angered at the unfairness of the world.

He didn't have the heart to chastise her.

"I am not a lion." He spoke softly. Cersei was only more enraged.

"You are a stag! Yours' is the fury! I see no fury in you!" What did she know of his fury? If he was not so-

Then he realized, looking at her. Looking at how wretched she look, her eyes looking at him with confusion and sympathy.

He now understood why she was so angry.

She saw in Stannis only herself.

Someone denied their proper dues, someone who felt no one respected.

It was such a selfish petty thing. This Cersei was a selfish girl.

But he couldn't deny. Her words however wrong somehow resonated within him.

He was a stag, and all he did was suppress his fury.

It amused him that it took a lioness repeating his own words to realize this.

No more.

Ours was the fury.

They would now know.

Stannis stood, staring straight at the Lannister girl.

"It seems I was wrong." At that all eyes widened. Davos especially.

Did Stannis Baratheon just admit he was wrong?

"Wrong about what?" Cersei's fury was replaced by limp confusion.

"I had earlier said your help was not appreciated. I would like to recant that statement." Cersei stared at him as if he had grown a set of stag horns.

"What do you mean?" She asked slowly, testing the waters.

"You were right in calling me a stag. A stag does not sit by his lonesome. He darts through the forest and strikes back against those who wrong him. Your words make me realize that. Thank you." Cersei was rendered mute, face reddening like beetroot.

"I-It is a mere trifle my lord." She averted her gaze, it confused him. Had his words angered her still?

"S-Seeing as how much of your time I have wasted would you a-allow me to take my leave?" Stannis did not understand why her eyes found it so difficult to meet his own. Why did lions have to be so difficult?

"No, in fact I expect you to be a constant presence within this council." All jaws dropped at this. Davos' eyes darted back and forth between lioness and stag. His expressions torn between amusement and aghast confusion.

"My lord I do not- "Stannis titled his head slightly lower. Glaring at her.

"You dare insult my generosity?" Cersei took one final look at the door before finally relenting.

* * *

House Dayne. It was an ancient and noble line that was born in the dawn of days, founded on the Torentine wherein the first Dayn tracked down a fallen star. They were among the most respected of houses from Dorne, a very rare thing considering how different the Dornish were from most of Westeros. The Dayne's were Stony Dornishman who possessed the conventional looks of the Andal and First Man blood common in the other Seven Kingdoms and rare within the Rhonyish Salt Dornishmen.

Now they were planning to send one of their own to this place.

"Squiring? A boy from House Dayne? Was a reason given?" This was Davos who spoke, his mind ever mindful of the myriad ways men deceived each other.

"The letter did not go into specifics. It only spoke of how the boy has proven to be 'difficult' page and how he's in need of a heavy handed-knight to squire with." Stannis answered.

"No doubt the boy might prove to be more than difficult. Yet to have a Dayne squire would prove a knight's true skill." Cressen added in his thoughts.

"He is only of the cadet branch however. This might be simply a way of disposing a spare." This was the newest addition to this inner circle voicing her thoughts. Cersei has proven to be quite adaptable, if fragile at times.

"The letter makes mention that this Gerold Dayne is the current lord of High Hermitage in the aftermath of his father's death. The main branch of the family sent this letter in his stead." Stannis clarified.

"So why not squire with the main house or other Dornish houses?" Davos asked the question on their minds.

"It says he served as a page for House Yronwood, it does not mention exactly what they thought of him." Cersei raised her eyes at that.

"Then that would simply mean none of the Dornish houses are willing to squire him." She said bemused.

"Then that means he would have needed to squire with houses from other kingdoms." Davos' understanding of this deepened. Many of Dorne's neighbors would not have been thrilled in handling a Dornish problem child.

"The question is why Lord Stannis? There are many knights from who to squire from. Why him exactly?" Cersei looked at him for a moment, then quickly averted her gaze when he was starting to look back at her.

"Mayhaps it's because he's become a pariah of sorts. Dragonstone is a remote place, so few would bother with stories from it. Yet Stannis still remains the heir-apparent, squiring and getting knighted by him would not diminish one's prestige. A perfect place for a wild Dornish child to squire in without stories spreading." Davos noted.

"I think accepting this would prove beneficial. My lord" Cersei offered her counsel.

"For what reason?" Stannis asked, he was testing her now.

"The Dornishmen have no love for your brother or mine own house. This boy mayhaps can be a powerful connection within Dorne in the coming seasons. Even so, having a Dayne squire that could potentially become the next Sword of the Morning would do wonders for you." This was surprisingly sound advice.

"Ser Davos? Maester?" Both men looked back at Cersei, both finding no fault on her words.

"We agree." Both men said in unison.

Good. It seems Cersei Lannister does indeed possess some cunning.

* * *

It's been so long since he's slept at this hour. For the past months he would have instead spent time staying up, brooding over the painted table. That was foolish now he realized.

He tried to sleep. Yet strangely he found his thoughts drifting towards the Lannister girl.

She was an unimpressive personality. Exactly like the lampreys that congregate within the courts. She had that Lannister vanity but few of that Lannister cunning. Yet she was actually striving to rectify that.

He couldn't make heads or tails of her. In recent days she's been acting oddly. Oft times she would act stoic and distance around him, in others she would degenerate into the emotionally charged girl he talked to at their late nightly visits.

She was an irritatingly confusing Westerlands tart.

A westerlands tart who didn't belong here.

Cersei Lannister was made for the courts, even with all of her over unwarranted views of her courtly prowess, she still thrived in them. Cersei was meant to live the life of a lady, a queen even. She had the beauty and the disarming charm at those times when she wasn't being hysterical. She had that low cunning and that stubborn pride

Cersei Lannister hated this place and hated him.

She didn't belong here.

She belonged in King's Landing or Highgarden, not a desolate crumbling ruin of a castle. Where she would be surrounded by her sycophants and dashing virtuous knights.

The gods were cruel for letting this betrothal take place.

She didn't belong here.

Not this place nor with him.

She would not survive. She would wither away bearing children here, living as lady of Dragonstone.

And for reasons unknown Stannis Baratheon didn't want to see such a sight happen before him.


	6. The Darkstar

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 **Disclaimer: A Song of Ice and Fire is owned by G.R.R Martin. This is a strict non-profit venture.**

* * *

He had locked himself within the cabin, lying on the rough straw bed with his dark purple eyes staring at creaking wet oak. They traveled towards Sunspear from whence they proceeded to Planky town and embarked on the ships that would take him to where he would squire. The nostrils on his aquiline nose flared. His high cheekbones and strong jaw set into bitter contemplation.

His pale lips curled into an ugly frown. They were supposed to be already there if not for some troubles in the Boneway. Their entourage had originally intended for them to find sails within the Crownlands or the Stormlands; but, they were prevented from doing so because the pettiness of Lord Anders Yronwood was strong. The Bloodroyal it seems still remembered the time he spent as a page under his service

He couldn't help but smile darkly at the vivid recollections of what he did to their daughter.

Poor girl.

Still it was an immense annoyance that their journey had to last twice than it needed to be because some lord feared the Darkstar. It was their fault for agreeing to let him page for them in the first place. Would this Stannis be the same? He hoped so, he wasn't looking forward to sojourning in Dragonstone until the arrival of summer.

He shifted on the straw, some of it bristling his skin. This was the last time he would hire sellsails. This was not the environs for a lord of High Hermitage to quarter in. This was a peasant's ship.

It irked him that even though he was now legally a lordling he was unable to make use of much of his lordly powers.

All this because the main house of Dayne thought him too much to handle. He snorted as he remembered the once proud Arhur Dayne now crippled. Telling him about his duties as a lord of House Dayne.

Oh how he had wished for the wolf to kill the Sword of the Morning underneath the shadow of that tower.

The stories of the Tower of Joy were endless in their variations. All that is truly know is that three of the Northmen survived, the Sword of the Morning was spared but maimed and Lyanna Stark was barely clinging to life.

The story of Arthur Dayne was a sad and pathetic one. One of the greatest knights of his age now left a shadow of his former self. Some stories say he had begged the Stark to end his life as he tended to the stump that once had been his feared sword arm, some stories say that Stark gave him clemency because of his honor while others say he did it out of cruelty.

Arthur was still a Kingsguard, but one largely exiled in practice. The duty that King Robert entrusted to him, that which necessitated him to remain in Dorne, he did not speak of. All that the poor wretched man would answer was "Watching for the Sun and Spear".

He remembered when he managed to rouse himself from his catatonic slumber. His silver hair lost their luster, his full cheeks hollow and his once shining eyes became dull.

It was pathetic and tragic what happened to such a man.

He promised no would let no such thing befall on him.

True knights were men to be scorned, they were fools who surrendered their desires for empty ideals such as honor. It would have been humorous if such expectations did not befall him.

He was not going to be another Sword of the Morning. That was the only oath he would ever make. He would be no shining star, no his would be a black star. A darkstar.

"We're here." A loud, hoarse voice called out amid the banging of his cabin's door.

Damned sellsails. They were rude to the very core.

* * *

He admitted he was expecting Dragonstone to be an unimpressive holding, yet he couldn't help but admire the aesthetics of the castle. He strode in on top of his horse, flanked on the sides by men serving the Daynes of Starfall. The sigils of the silver sword crossed with the silver falling star were waving madly as the spring gale blew pass them.

Dragonstone was a Targaryen castle. Its stone was dark as night, its walls watched over by evil looking sentinels that were in the visage of the foulest creatures. The charcoal clouds that clung over them had allowed very few pockets of sunlight to pierce through, amplifying the dread of Dragonstone even more.

Even the sounds were haunting, the wind passed through the many holes and juts within the black stone, it was less of a winds whistle and more like the damned screams of the wretched and the lost.

He was not afraid. In truth, he was taking notes, he had hoped he would be able to have High Hermitage emulate this nightmarish citadel. He liked this castle. A dark place for a dark heart.

They passed underneath the gates, underneath the maw of a bellowing dragon. They entered grounds of the main keep and saw him standing quietly.

Stannis Baratheon painted a grim figure. He had a scowl on his face, as if he felt this was a waste of his time. Standing by his side was a scruffy looking man and a beautiful blond Andal looking woman, attended by a gaggle of handmaidens.

Well this wasn't going to be as boring as he thought it would be.

Gerold Dayne dismounted, bowed with flourish and spoke in his most dramatic voice.

"My name is Gerold Dayne, lord of High Hermitage. I am honored that the great Lord Stannis Baratheon, brother of our great king finds me worthy as a squire." He knelt and bowed his head as low as he could, hiding his cringing face from him.

"I have no use for petty words. Come we must train." Gerold's head darted up, his silver hair broken by a streak of midnight black falling over his eyes.

"Just within my arrival? No feast? No respite from the long journey? No offer of even bread and salt?" Stannis looked at him with a look of disgust.

"You are here to be a knight, hence I shall treat you as one. We will train at the yard. You will have your feast, bread and salt and rest If I judge you worthy." Gerold bit his tongue. It was too early for scathing japes.

Well then it looks like this Stannis Baratheon has proven every bit the martinet his distant uncle said he was.

* * *

He felt the muddy ground striking his back, as he wheezed out a cry. A powerful and potent hatred growing within his heart. Stannis did not even use his sword that time. He instead had grabbed him by the back of his neck, lifted him up and threw him down like a girl's doll.

Red flooded his vision as he wiped away the mud from his face. Stannis Baratheon stared emptily at him. Wearing greaves, vambraces, boots and dark chainmail. They were using practice swords, well he was using a practice sword. Stannis was relying on his fists.

He stood up, panting loudly with a phlegm ridden throat. He roared out and charged at him. The way he used the blade, it would have been swung at his neck, if Stannis had not charged as well and elbow him on the chest.

Gerold Dayne fell on the muddy grounds of the Bitter Stag's gallows. They had been sparring over two hours now.

Gerold's sweat intermingled with the dirt, he looked up from his kneeling position and took a glance at his onlookers on top the benches.

Davos Seaworth was a scruffy looking man who should have never been knighted and remained a smallfolk smuggler. Ilyn Payne looked onwards with a dispassionate eye.

Cersei Lannister had a disgusting sneer on her face that he would love very much to wipe off. The handmaiden who was her pale imitation looked onwards with anxiety. The tall, ugly one looked bored. The one with the nice freckles seemed entranced, but the one wearing the veil.

He hated her the most, for he could not scarcely imagine what sort of face she wore underneath that cloth.

They were all judging him, it only made him angrier. They would rue this day, rue ever underestimating Darkstar.

He stared at his combatant, his dark purple eyes glowing with fury.

"I see eyes that wish to kill staring at me." Stannis spoke out, his nerves as steel even with the boy's attempts in murdering him.

"If only that desire translated into action." Gerold's eyes widened in utter rage and he let out another cry, repeating his last maneuver and Stannis doing the same. Then at the last moment he suddenly changed trajectory, moving to the side and trying to catch his torso with a sword. Only for Stannis to do respond as before and have his gauntlet meet Gerold's face.

He was sent sprawling unto the ground once more.

"That was an improvement, yet again you make the same mistake. You focus too much on thinking of trying to hurt me instead of doing it." He got up, his labored breaths were painful now.

He stood up slowly, staring at the man he had quickly learned to despise with a passion.

He held tightly the hilt of his sword, he raised his sword.

All present expecting him to repeat his futile attack a third time. Stannis was the only exception and it proved the wisest decision as he dodged the practice sword flying towards his face. The Dayne boy was not letting him have clemency as he jumped towards him. His fist aimed directly at the throat.

Stannis answered his wild attack with the appropriate response.

He whipped out his arm , catching the flying boy by the throat who landed with a loud and painful thud on the earth.

"I-I yield." Gerold Dayne barely breath out, grasping his throat for scant precious air.

"You have done well." Was all Stannis said.

Gerold Dayne did not know if he had failed or passed his new mentor's judgment. He was too much in pain to really care.

* * *

"You attack wantonly." Stannis said whilst he took a bite out of the roast of beef, encrusted with herbs and garlic.

"Nary a care for your surrounding nor circumstance." Stannis said while he chewed the tough but delicious meat, swallowing it even though it was incredibly painful for him to do.

"Clouded by wild emotion and reckless rage." He took a large gulp out of the tankard of ale. It tasted like piss, but it helped mitigate the pain.

"I see potential." Gerold Dayne almost spat out the ale he was drinking.

He looked at the man who remained the dark and emotionless lord that greeted him on that yard and who gave him the thrashing of a lifetime.

"I do not understand." Stannis and the young Dayne were seated much closer to each other. Davos was seated by his side while Cersei was directly opposite of them. The onion knight shared the boy's surprise whilst Cersei just curiously raised her brow.

"It is good that you have displayed all of your flaws at once, this means I now know how to mold your development into a knight." Gerold internally laughed at that, as if Stannis Baratheon had the means to do so.

"You seem awfully pleased with yourself. That is good. You will need that positivity for the morrow's training." All color drained from Darkstar's face at the mention of morrow's training.

* * *

He had stalked her, ever since sup was finished. It was nearing midnight; he had spied her walking. Now they were within the gardens. She was busily stuck in her own world, unmindful of her surroundings. She bent down and smelled the roses that were now in bloom, he wondered if she was capable of smelling it all through that veil.

Now was his chance.

"Beautiful flowers aren't they?" She stood at attention, turned and face him.

"M-My lord Dayne." Her voice was painful to his ears, it was so high-pitched and sweet.

"Forgive me my lady but you have me at a disadvantage. You know my name but not I of yours." She locked her fingers with one another, fidgeting like a rustling fall leaf.

He liked her dress, all black with some grey in between. Her blouse seemed a size too big for her, making her look fat.

"N-Nerissa Banefort." She sputtered out, he gave her is most charming smile.

It only agitated her.

"Hold my lady. Stay calm, I do not mean to harm you." This girl was a queer one, she was terrified of him. Normally he would have enjoyed it but he wasn't sure what she was actually frightened of.

"I-I'm sorry my lord I have t-" He grabbed her wrist as she tried to retreat. She struggled with the fury of a trapped boar.

"M-My lord please I beseech you let me go!" The girl begged with horror in her voice.

Darkstar ignored her protestations, merely rubbing his fingers over her dainty wrists.

"So smooth, they shine under the moonlight. Why do you not show them more often?" She squeaked, breathing quickly with panicked gasps.

Where Westermen woman so prudish as to not appreciate a handsome Dornish squire?

"Lord Dayne please." He placed his hand on her face trying to tear off the veil that hid away his prize. She froze like a statue, all the fight from her disappearing

"No. I beg and plead don't remove it." He felt her tremble at his touch, as if he was about to rape her. It offended him, the Darkstar was too handsome to depend on such crude methods.

"Away!" Maybe it was his utter focus on trying to discover what was hidden behind that veil, but even he should have not have let a maiden head-butt him on the cheek without him noticing it.

Both of them had found themselves planted into the garden soil. He looked towards the girl who had just rudely launched herself at him. From the way her face contorted into pain as she rubbed her temples, it was obvious it hurt her more than it hurt him.

Not even a day and already Stannis' training seemed to have already blossomed within him.

"Away you nasty brute!" The girl with freckles and a reddening temple yelled out as Nerissa quickly retreated behind her.

"My thanks Shierle." The Banefort girl squeaked in relief.

Darkstar spat out a wad of blood.

"I only wanted to see her pretty face." He said with a frightening smile.

"I-I shant let a beast like you harm my friend!" Her bravery was already falling apart it as he flashed her his predatory grin.

Fortunately for them and unfortunately for him reinforcements were quickly incoming.

Following behind them was Cersei Lannister and the other two handmaidens, along with the intimidating presence of Ser Illyn Payne. The Lannister lioness raised her golden lashes, overseeing the scene and trying to make sense of what was transpiring.

"What have you been doing to my handmaidens?" Cersei said with cold voice.

He smiled, trying to regain what dignity he had left.

"I was merely asking the lady Banefort some questions." Cersei transfixed her gaze on the sobbing girl, Shierle hugging her tightly.

"H-He tried to take my veil!" Darkstar scowled, why was that such a ghastly thing? A maiden is supposed to show her lovely face, not hide it like some horrible crone.

"My lord Dayne, taking a maiden's possessions without her permission is quite discourteous. How do you expect yourself to become a knight with such breach of chivalry?" He didn't like her look, that look of haughty contempt. He had already seen enough of that at Starfall.

"A maiden? She dresses more like a Silent Sister than any sort of maiden I know. Can you blame a poor squire to make such a mistake?" Cersei's eyes narrowed like those of a lion's.

"That's quite the cruel tongue you have lord Dayne, if you're not careful you might end up like good Ser Illyn Payne" She gestured towards the man beside her.

"I assure you Lady Lion that I shant make the same mistakes as Ser Illyn. I am much too clever for that." Ser Illyn had managed one step before Cersei raised a hand. The grim knight stayed his hand from the hilt of his blade. His sunken eyes promising painful death to the Darkstar if his mistress was not here.

"You seem to like cruelty my young lord Dayne. I wonder then if lord Stannis is truly the kind of man you should squire for." Gerold Dayne raised his eye in curiosity.

"You suggest another?" Cersei gave her a sweet smile.

"I hear Ser Gregor Clegane is looking for good cruel squires." The Darkstar's smile fell and a dark pit formed in his stomach. Everyone grew a bit more morose at the mention of the Mountain.

"My father's bannerman would love to have you under his service. It would be as simple as sending a raven to Casterly Rock and Starfall." Gerold felt beads of sweat forming on his brow, his dark eyes drilling into the Lannister bitch with fury.

Gregor Clegane was a dangerous man; worse, his name carried a certain taboo in Dorne. Even if he survived his squireship, the fact he squired with the murderer of the beloved Elia Martell meant only the Stranger was left for him in Dorne. What made her threat worse was that the Lannister whore had the means to commit such a deed. He was confident the main house would have gladly let it happen if it ended with him far away from Dorne.

Damned lions.

"What say you Darkstar?" He resisted the urge to speak out spiteful curses. He was getting ahead of himself for incurring the wrath of a Lannister.

"I apologi- "Cersei raised her hand.

"Not to me. To my loyal retainers." He bit his tongue, and turned slowly. First to the Banefort girl.

"I… apologize Lady Nerissa. I have gone beyond the bounds of accepted courtesy. I humbly …. beg for your forgiveness." Every word made him feel sicker. The Darkstar did not apologize, but the Darkstar also didn't like having his head smashed in or having his meals poisoned by a Red Viper.

"And to you…. lady."

"Shierle Swyft." He looked at her heart shaped face, her dainty aquiline nose, her brown freckles and her bright hazel eyes. He would remember her face.

Darkstar was not one who let grudges lie. She had just made a foe for life.


	7. A Lovestruck Hen

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 **Disclaimer: A Song of Ice and Fire is owned by G.R.R Martin. This is a strict non-profit venture.**

* * *

Dawn was quickly breaking. She had already been awake when the beams of the new born son flooded into their bedchambers. Ever since she was little she for reason unkown found it quite easy to be awake. She believed it was because she always loved seeing the morning sun. Seeing it rising always made her felt at peace.

She tidied herself up, she wasn't the fussy one when it came to clothes. Mostly Leonella would fret over which thing to wear. Most of her gowns were all of the same make and look. She desired no reason to outshine the others, especially the Lady Lannister.

Well once long ago.

It was queer she thought as the servant women assisted her in adorning her dress. Lady Cersei had changed drastically since this past month. She was unsure of the exact cause for this, her womanly intuition felt it was all due to the influence of a certain brooding lord. Although she was wise enough not to voice such things with the others, they were all insipid gossips with Nerissa being an especially shameless rumormonger.

Speaking of Nerissa she was glad that awful Dayne boy had stopped bothering her. Instead it seems he had changed his focus towards her. She remembered one morning spar after Ser Illyn Payne gave him a good thrashing, she had snickered at his sorry state and in vengeance he threw horse dung on her dress. She reciprocated in kind and threw some on his handsome but snooty face. Ever since then they had a game of pranks; simple childish games that Dayne took too seriously.

Gerold Dayne was two and one while she was her senior by another two years. He didn't act like he was going to be a man soon, indeed she thought him a mere boy. When she first grasped Nerissa by the face she thought him a ravager, yet quickly she realized he was just an idiot. She remembered fondly when he attempted to seduce Leonella for one of his petty schemes and became flustered when Leonella proved receptive.

Poor boy, to think he was Dornish. He must have been the butt of many jokes back home.

He must have been training at this hour, if she had to guess it would be Lord Stannis' turn to be tutor. Apparently the prince did not bother appointing a master-at-arms during the short time he had been lord and so Gerold's training was regulated to Lord Stannis, Ser Ilyn Payne, and Ser Ronald Connington.

Lord Stannis was a fearsome man to see in combat, whenever she remembered men speaking their doubts of his relation with the King, she would have them dispelled as she saw him in action. Stannis Baratheon was like a bull; he often easily sent Dayne flying with just one hand. He neglected using his sword which Gerold found insulting and when he pressed lord Stannis on why he did not use it the lord had said 'If my fists can bloody you then my sword will end you'.

Ser Payn's training with Dayne made lord Stannis look soft. It was less training and more torture. The silent man was expertly deft with his blade and left Dayne with cuts that could have been lethal if he bothered to make them so. Ser Payn also made the boy undergo physical training. The sort that she found especially cruel.

Ser Ronald Connington was Dayne's lance instructor. She had rarely encountered him, the only time she's ever saw him outside of teaching Dayne was at the first feast to celebrate Lady Cersei's arrival.

According to Maester Cressen he was the cousin of Lord Jon Connington, who had sided with the Targaryens, and he once served the castellen of Griffin's Roost. After King Robert's crowning House Connington were utterly stripped of all their lands. Leaving the Conningtons destitute. Lord Stannis however felt it harsh for King Robert to punish an old Stormlands house in such a way and hence gave Ser Ronald a minor holding on the base of Griffinmont, formerly Dragonmont, which meant greatly when it came to how few lands Dragonstone had. For this act of kindness, the Connington's have become fanatically loyal to lord Stannis.

Ser Ronald had a young son by the name of Ronnet, he was a sweet boy, around the same age as Gerold which would explain why he had befriended the poisonous Dornishman. She and Nerissa, who was immensely fond of him, made an oath to prevent him from becoming anything like Darkstar.

She had finished preparing herself, quickly pacing towards the lady's room. The others she met just outside the door.

"My lady we're here." They said in unison.

"You may all enter." That they did, Cersei Lannister was wearing her sleeping clothes, a very scandalous thing from Dorne. She was staring outside her widow, golden hair glittering under the sun. She was beautiful.

They quickly tended to her needs, helping her dress and wash. It took some time and Cersei ordered the others to go ahead to break their fast while Shierle stayed behind. The Lady Cersei wanted her hair braided, an expertise of Shierle.

There was silence between them, until Lady Cersei broke it.

"Have you ever fallen in love Shierle?" She froze at that question, her face heating at such a brusqueness of it.

"I-I do not believe so." She replied hastily. Lady Cersei became quiet again for some time.

"Is falling in love a foolish thing?" She asked unmindful as if it was a question directed towards herself and not to Shierle.

"The tales say otherwise." Cersei chuckled bitterly at that.

"The tales say the beautiful maiden always gets her prince." She spoke wistfully.

"Lord Stannis is technically a prince." She realized too late just what she said.

She felt Cersei Lannister tensing up, while a gnawing fear in her heart grew.

"I-I'm sorry my Lady that wa-"Cersei roughly raised her shoulders, Shierle had to revoke her hands from her hair.

A tense quiet descended.

"Is it so obvious?" Lady Lannister said forlornly.

"Wait! You really do- "Lady Cersei turned her head like a whip. Her eyes glowing with deadly malevolence.

"DO NOT SPEAK UNTIL I GIVE THE WORD!" She spoke with dripping venom.

Shierle dumbly nodded her head, resuming her braiding duties.

"Am I a fool?" Cersei said after a moment of calming down.

"I do not think so my lady." She was being more careful now in her choosing of words.

"In a week and already my heart aches in his presence, a man who I know barely little of, do not tell me this is not foolishness." Cersei responded.

"Do you know why this is the case?" She noticed the cheeks of her lady reddening.

"Imagine if you will. All your life you wanted to hear a particular set of words. Words that you felt validated your entire being, that drive you to do what you do. Imagine then if those who are closest to you by blood and soul never tell those words to you. No matter what you do. Now imagine a complete stranger, someone you've elsewise hated suddenly telling you the words you've wanted to hear for so long. Imagine if he treats you, even in contempt, like someone worth respecting. Imagine if he were ever earnest, capable of no lies. Imagine then if he be a reflection of you, yet where you are weak he is strong but where you are strong he is weak. I cannot imagine it, my heart aches when I attempt to do so." This must have happened during their occasional nightly talks. The ones that everyone's been gossiping about.

"I feel that's enough grounds to fall in love with someone my lady." She spoke with a beaming smile.

"But what if you still love another?" She combed a strand of her lady's hair in preparation for a third braid. She had suspicion who this person was.

"What if you desperately want to love this older love, yet you heart ignores your commands and still beats furiously whenever the man with words appeared? What if it drives you to do foolish things? In some attempt of seeking his approval. What if you fear meeting your old love, unsure if your heart will continue to beat the sameways the man with words made it beat? Is this not foolishness?" Shierle clamped her hands down on the lady's shoulder causing her to shake in surprise.

"It is a woman's duty to love. That was the purpose given to us by the Seven-in-one God. He made men for fighting and women for loving. Do not call foolish what is only natural for us my lady." She spoke with comfort and sympathy.

She noticed glistening streams pouring down her lady's cheeks.

She gasped when she felt arms locking around her chest and a sobbing Lady Lannister on her shoulder.

"I despise duty! It hurts so much! Why are the gods so cruel!" She whined and screamed into Sheirle's dress. She hugged back.

"To live is to suffer my lady. That is why child birth is so painful. Yet to hear a new babe's mewlings is cause enough to make one think the pain a petty price to pay. Listen to your heart my lady, but do not it control you. That is the one thing I can give to you now." She said sagely, almost on the brink of tears herself.

Stannis Baratheon was a hidden blessing; she had feared the Lady Lannister would have become even worse than she was.

Before Dragonstone she had thought the lady a selfish and vain child. One who thought too much of herself. Holding her now, hearing the troubles ailing her heart. She knew that Cersei Lannister was now set on a different path.

She then remembered a story told to her by Maester Cressen, about a young lord Stannis Baratheon who had discovered an injured goshawk. His brother King Robert called it a weak thing, yet Stannis preserved even when all others spoke of the folly in it, but even so abandoned it in the end. The Maester said it still haunts him.

Maester Cressen noted wistfully that ever since lord Stannis had attracted broken things.

Broken people, broken castles and broken bonds.

Stannis never stopped trying to fix them even without him being aware of it. Stannis never relented in anything.

And in this one case he had succeeded.

* * *

She had found herself within the stables at lady Cersei's dismissal. She found herself staring at Gerold Dayne. The young boy was focused now, he was about to ride his horse along with Ser Ronald Connington. She didn't know why she was here.

The Darkstar got a glance of her, and gave her his ugliest smile. She responded in kind with one of her's as well. At that Darkstar bristled and tried to even make an uglier smile. Only to fail and be ignorant of where he was as he hit his head on the stable roof.

She burst into a maddened giggle, all the while Darkstar roared at her.

"AWAY! AWAY! YOU BLUE HEN!" That was what the 'Darkstar' called her. The blue hen. She didn't find it insulting, she liked it in a way, for he always said it whenever he got flustered. It was also a play on her house words 'Awake! Awake!', ever since he discovered she was a Swyft he started to often use chicken japes, but they were so bad that she laughed at them and at him.

 _Have you ever fallen in love Shierle?_

At that she froze, and stared at Gerold. He gave her a sullen and angry look, his purple eyes staring with a broody intensity. He trotted towards her.

"When I finish training on the jousting field you shall ride with me." She titled her head sideways.

"Ride where 'Darkstar'?" He grimaced.

"It is a secret, I found it along with Red Ronnet. Worry not, it is a beautiful place." He gave her a smile, this wasn't one of his ugly ones. She had thought it amusing how he thought it would wo-

 _I feel that's enough grounds to fall in love with someone my lady_

She felt a hotness on her cheeks and the beating of her heart climbing up.

Dayne looked at her, nary a clue as to what she was feeling.

"Are you sick my lady?" He was like Stannis in that regard. A bit slow to decipher a woman's heart.

Wait, it couldn't be.

"I-I'm sorry I-" Darkstar kicked the stirrups of his courser, the steed neighing wildly.

"I shall abduct you forthwith and take you there against your will then! You will come to find it beautiful and there I shall enact my final vengeance else you've incurred my wroth for the umpteenth time!" Gerold then sped away on his horse, not bothering to wait for Ser Ronald to finish.

The aforementioned redhead knight stared at her and shook his head with an amused expression.

Normally she would have rolled her eyes at yet another of Gerold's ineffectual threats. Now however she just felt a deep burning sensation in her chest.

Maybe lady Cersei was right.

Maybe falling in love was foolishness.

* * *

He tied his horse around a very conveniently shaped tree stump. They were near the coast, south of where Griffinmont would be. She didn't know why she agreed to this, Gerold himself was surprised she was receptive the second time, taking out the fun of forcing her to come. They found themselves before a deep dark maw. Gerold had in his possession a torch and a sword.

She stared at the blade, it wasn't a mere training blade. It was an actual sword.

"Worry not blue hen. This is just a precaution. I would not let you perish when my vengeance has yet to be satiated." He offered her his hand. She took it and it felt warm.

"Try not to get lost." He flashed her a smile. It made her heart flutter.

Oh gods no this couldn't be happening.

She wasn't supposed to be with him. She should have been under the supervision of a septa. This was indecent, what would the Dornishman do to her?

'Lady Cersei was right.' She thought with great regret as they entered the dark hole.

Soon after they found themselves in a giant network of caves, the echoes of dripping water droplets echoing loudly along with the sea wind.

"One of these passages lead to an abandoned cove. Ronnet and I believe mayhaps it was meant to be some sort discrete escape for Targaryens." His hand was soft, moreover he wasn't holding it to hard. He was leading her. A boy two years younger leading her to his mysterious destination.

In her mind dark and indecent thoughts swirled.

After some navigating, pausing as Darkstar looked for signs that were shaped like stars, they found their destination.

A small pool. The breath in her left as she looked at its waters, they looked beautiful. So clear. She touched the surface. It's ripples were mesmerizing to see.

Then Dayne started to undress.

"BY THE GODS!" She screamed as she planted her hands on her face.

"Come now take a dive!" Dayne jumped into the waters, his mirthful laughter echoing across the cave.

"WHAT DID YOU INTEND ON DOING!" Dayne smirked.

"I was planning to assault you with the visage of my virile cock in the hopes it would dirty you. Is it working?" She averted her gaze as he stood up.

"AWAY! YOU VILE PERVERT!" She shrilly screamed. She peeked through and saw Dayne's face. He looked, surprised?

"HEN!" She saw Dayne throwing something. She didn't know what was going on until she heard a cry of pain next to her.

She dragged herself away as a man garbed in black furs that smelt of salt fell face first into the ground, unmoving. A large wet rock next to his bleeding head.

* * *

"Feck off." The bald man with milky eyes said as Dayne punched him a third time. After dressing again, Shierle and he had spent some minutes interrogating him.

"I repeat. Who are you?" Dayne asked again. The man had a tall face, his cheeks and eyes were sunken and his nose was broken beyond imagining. He had some missing teeth and had a scar on the right of his lips that made him look like he was smirking. He was deathly pale and smelt of smoke and salt.

It was then that they heard the footsteps. Shierle looked at him worried, while Darkstar had a grim expression on his face.

"Well then looks like the boys 'ave finally gotten off their arses. Hope you a Drowned God man boy." Ironborn. There were Ironborn on Dragonstone.

"How'd they get here?" She asked panicked.

"Through the cove most likely. Blue hen, you need to take my horse and inform lord Stannis. I will stay here and block their chase." She looked at him dumbfounded.

"HA! A greenlander? Taking on ironborn? And a boy too! I promise you girlie if you surrender now the boys won't be that hard on ye." She gave him a sharp slap to the face, silencing him for a bit.

"If no one stays then they escape. Lord Stannis will have my head. If you do not return safety, Lady Cersei will have my head. Please do not make this harder for me as it is." He was calm, she didn't understand how. He could die.

"B-Bu-"He grasped her cheeks with his hands. His purple eyes staring into her. She felt that burning sensation once more.

"The Dornish take their revenge very seriously. I will not die until I found my grievance satisfied. This I promise. The second oath I will ever make." He was such a fool! A big fat idiot!

He handed her the torch.

"Follow the stars, they will lead you out!" She couldn't move, she was planted into the ground.

"HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN YOUR WORDS BLUE HEN?!" He gave her a light slap on the cheeks.

"AWAKE! AWAKE! NOW GO!" At those words she felt her feet moving on their lonesome. She found herself on a junction with a crudely carved star on the walls to the right. On the left she heard footsteps. She moved to the right and turned back.

She saw Gerold Dayne sword in hand, he gave her a daring smile.

'I will not die until my vengeance is complete.'It told her.

She felt tears running down her cheeks. Eventually she reached the cave entrance. Already she heard the sounds of fighting.

He was going to die. A mere boy couldn't survive a battle with the ironborn. He was going to die and all she could do was abandon him.

 _Am I a fool?  
_  
Worry not Lady Cersei. I am a fool as well.

"Don't die Darkstar. You promised me." She whispered out through freezing tears as she rode back to Dragonstone. The courser galloping wildly as if it felt the danger its master was in as well.


	8. The Iron Kraken

**Note: 90% books, 10% show  
**

 **Disclaimer: A Song of Ice and Fire is owned by G.R.R Martin. This is a strict non-profit venture.**

* * *

It was a large ship, one that few would not be able to see in clear weather; fortunately, they were hidden by an evening mist that had blanketed their approach for the past three days and nights. Its size bellied its speed and deftness. It was a fine ship, long and graceful; yet deadly when raking lesser vessels.

It deserved aptly its name.

 _Iron Victory_

He stood near the ships prow, a large kraken's head carved into the bow. He wore a greathelm that was fashioned in the same likeness of the ships kraken figurehead. Adorning the rest of him was big, hulking armor that was in the color of tin; it was impeccably clean for something that so often would be exposed to wind, salt and water. Many of the ironborn thought him daft for wearing plate armor, even if they had the blessings of the Drowned God, wearing plate seemed to be mad.

He felt only contempt for these sorts of men, he was a true son of the Iron Isles. He was blessed under the Drowned God. He did not fear the sea, he was born from it through salt and blood. The sea was no kinslayer. It was from whence all Ironborn came from. To fear drowning was like to fear life.

Yet even so he felt trepidation here. The lord of these islands was a son of Stormlords, those servants of the vicious Storm God. He had spent weeks tracking them down, these craven ironborn who had stolen from his House.

Although to the greenlanders he would say he was bringing 'justice' to these men. They were planning to reave after all. Though to him that was not a cause enough for punishment. Indeed, to reave was one of the most sacred customs of the Ironborn, the fact that it was forbidden made him all the more resentful of the rulership under southron lords.

Yet these men they hunted, they were not true ironborn.

They did not pay the iron price for what they had taken. They stole it through deception and lies, not through strength of arms and will. He could not let such a personal slight pass so brazenly.

He had recently become Lord Captain of the Iron Fleet hence he was easily deemed too important for such frivolous tasks. Victarion Greyjoy felt these wretches had personally earned his enmity and needed to feel the bite of his axe, much to the consternation to his father.

Like a shark gliding through water they found the gaping maw to the cove. He may have been dull, but even he knew that these traitors would have needed a more discrete place to hide. They hugged the coasts of Dragonstone, carefully evading the ships patrolling her waters. They came across this small place, ahead of their quarry. They hid themselves behind the pillars of a small islet. When their prey entered did they begin their strike.

"Ready your arms. Tonight we kill." Victarion said grimly to his sailors. It was always a terrible thing when ironborn blood had to be shed. Although Victorian had intended to use the haft of his axe to bludgeon them to death; but, he figured it too tiring to do so and decided that by fleeing the Iron Islands they were technically no longer ironborn, hence the spillage of blood was less sacrilegious.

The cavern they slowly drifted into was a massive thing, like the gullet of the creature that was this island's namesake. The roof was many feet high, jagged teeth like stalactites hanging menacingly. Next to the where the cave's soil met the deep waters there was what looked to be the remnants of a small harbor in times long bygone. Anchored next to it was their prey.

It was quiet.

He jumped downwards as soon as they made port, his steel studded sabatons sinking into soft earth, he grabbed the disturbed soil and smelt it.

"Salt and soil." He smiled, it was an immensely satisfying odor to his nose. It smelt like Pyke. He couldn't wait to return to his family. To his father, and brothers; especially now with Euron dead on the Mander. Though kinsman he never liked the man.

They went towards the harbor and then towards the ship, they spent some few seconds exploring the deck. When they went deeper they were struck by a pathetic sight.

A dozen thralls lying on top of each other, they whimpered and recoiled for every step they took. Their prey had neglected their oarsmen; this explains why they had stayed here.

He ordered some men to stay on the ship, taking the rest deeper into the caves. Though they thought themselves lost, they eventually heard the sounds of screaming and shouting.

Eventually they found themselves in a particularly large natural chamber dominated by a crystal clear pool of water. They saw their quarry surrounding a large butte within the middle of the cavern. On top was a bloodied boy who threw rocks and curses at them.

"GET DOWN HERE YOU COWARD!" He knew that voice, that was the voice of the man who stole from him.

"DO THE WOMEN OF THE IRON ISLES NOT TEACH THEIR SONS HOW TO CLIMB?!" The boy spoke back with venom; he was awfully brave for someone who was like unto a cornered animal.

Their attentions were quickly taken by the approaching mass of soldiers.

"By the Drowned God." The man breath out with widening eyes. His group of ten raising their weapons and moving into stances.

"Dagon." He spoke dully.

"Victarion Greyjoy. I suppose you're looking for what I took from you?" To that he nodded.

"Too bad, it's up there with him." He pointed towards the bloody southron boy.

"You stole from me." Victarion was not going to let him off with ease.

"Iron price." Was Dagon's answer.

"You were entrusted with guarding it. You have forsaken your duties. That is no Iron Price." Dagon was getting nervous.

"Well then… I suppose this is good a time if any… ATTACK!" Dagon and his men surged forward. They attacked like desperate men.

Victarion readied his shield, feeling the force of a mace striking it. He looked at his attacker, his skin was darker than anyone he's ever seen. His scalp was bare and he had a rabid look to him. A thrall hailing from the southern continent?

Victarion did not care, he easily swept aside his blow and raised his mighty axed. In a single motion he had bisected the southern islander from the hip. His face contorted into one of shock as the two halves of him fell into the pool.

Two others descended on him. One was old, with long grey hair that looked like seaweed. The other was surprisingly a woman. She was young and buxom, wielding two different daggers while the older man held a spear.

The seaweed headed man thrust his weapon towards Victarion. He batted it aside contemptuously with his shield. The girl took advantage of that and stabbed him from side to side.

He grunted.

Her eyes widened in horrified surprise. Not expecting him to move. He dropped his weapons and held her close in an imitation of an intimate hug.

"I wear chainmail." He simply said as he butted her head with his greathelm

"Nia!" The older man said, no doubt a relative or close friend.

He butted her again, there was blood on her nose.

He did it again, blood was seeping from her eyes.

A third final time, and her head lolled back lifeless.

He threw her corpse towards the seaweed haired man, he grabbed her and sobbed weakly as he tried waking her up.

He did not feel the axe separating his head from his shoulders.

Soon it was only Dagon now, who fell to his knees and begged for life. He did not bother remembering the man's lamentations. He had heard it all before.

He kicked him down, planting his foot on the man's chest.

"Victarion please n-"His pathetic mewlings only served in making Victarion angrier. This was not how an ironborn should act at the hour of his death. He took his round shield, carefully and slowly thrusting the sharp edges into his neck.

He met resistance at first, the man gurgled out blood as the shield tore through his veins and flesh. Eventually it cleanly sliced his neck and his head started rolling downwards.

"Fucking hells." Victarion looked up, the southron boy stared at him with a pale face.

"You are safe now greenlander." Victarion said in the most diplomatic voice he could muster. Now all he needed to do was to make peace with the lord of this island.

* * *

This stormlord was grim. Victarion did not know of any man who could make him say such a thing. He stood by Stannis Baratheon as his men scoured the cove. By his side was the bloodied squire, his bruised face curled into a frown.

"You were foolish in delaying these men." Stannis Baratheon chastised the boy, Victarion had to agree. It was fortunate that the boy was attacked by such incompetent ironborn.

"I thought mayhaps you would have had my head for letting them escape." Stannis shook his head.

"You are my squire. Your responsibility is to be a squire. Leave the task of safeguarding Dragonstone to me. I will not have you risk your life for my duties." The boy scowled.

"I shall write of this to your relatives back at Dorne. They shall be informed of your bravery." The boy's resentful faced turned into one of surprise.

"I thought you said I was being foolish?" Stannis stared at him.

"Even foolishness can be useful." The boy scowled even more.

"They do not need to know." He spoke quietly.

"They don't, but that falls upon me and not you." The boy looked to the side.

"May I take my leave now?" Victarion decided to intrude into the conversation now. He had no desire to be subject to further inconsequential talking.

"Do you have sufficient rations for your journey back to the Iron Isles Lord Victarion?" Stannis spoke like a dullard, severe and possessed with no inkling of warmth. It was refreshing to hear a man who spoke with purpose and not vapid courtesy. A pity he was born a stormlander and not an ironborn.

"No, but we will manage." They spoke alike, it was such an odd feeling.

"How much rations do you have left?" Stannis did not relent.

"I said we will manage." He didn't as well.

"If that's the case then I forbid you from leaving." His eyes narrowed.

"By what right?" Victarion spoke dangerously.

"You ignored my powers as lord of Dragonstone, acting on your own initiative. Be thankful I am being merciful." Victarion ground his teeth.

"You have no _righ_ t greenlander. I am ironborn, not some southron wench" He growled out.

Stannis stared him down.

"Then how about a duel for your right to passage?" Both the boy and Victarion looked at him as if he were mad.

"L-Lord Stannis?" The boy had said, unbelieving of Stannis' question.

"Fine. At the morrow." Stannis raised his hand. To which Victarion grabbed and shook furiously.

This Stannis should have been born under salt and sea.

* * *

It was morning in the gallows. The dawn had just arrived and the morning sun's rays was reflected by their armors. Victarion had refused to sleep within the castle of Dragonstone, electing to slumber in the _Iron Victory._ Their little duel had attracted a small crowd of people. From the smallest small folk to the highest lord.

Victarion noticed among them a blond woman and her entourage. She looked nervous, fearful even.

He had learned moments before they took their places that she was the daughter of Tywin Lannister and the supposed betrothed of the man he was about to fight.

He had a dark smile underneath his helm.

The Westerlands had been an ever constant foe to the Iron ISles. Indeed, it was the home of one of the greatest traitors of ironborn. House Kenning of Kayce, who betrayed the driftwood kings to the kings of the rock.

He would love nothing more than to make the stag bleed in front of his pretty soon to be wife. Then his eyes drifted to a woman beside him. She looked like her, but a bit plumper. She averted her gaze quickly once she realized he was staring at her.

Westerland whores.

"Are you ready Lord Captain?" Stannis wore great plate like his. It was similarly dully tinted. The only ornamental thing about it were the stag antlers jutting from the crown of its helm. _  
_  
"What is dead may never die." Victarion gave his answer.

"But rises again, harder and stronger." His eyes widened to Stannis' response.

Those were the words a priest would use when anointing one under the Drowned God. How did a Greenlander know those words?

He shook his head out of his surprised stupor. He wasn't going to let mere words distract him from this duel.

Once the cry was given they began their duel in earnest, well Victarion did.

He charged towards Stannis, shield at the front ready to trample him under foot. All the while Stannis stood his ground, readying his own kite shield.

Like waves upon rocks the sigils of the stag and the kraken crashed into one another. Victarion smiled as he felt Stannis being pushed back, he easily plowed through him. For a time.

His smile quickly turned as he felt more and more resistance to his charge until finally they reached a standstill just inches form one of the walls.

He heard Stannis grunting out in immense pain. He couldn't believe it.

He was holding him back.

Victarion cursed quietly as he felt Stannis push, he was astonished as he felt his legs falling backwards. He never encountered a man who matched his sheer strength, even if barely so. He was ready to strike him at the neck with his axe until he felt something hit him on the head.

He fell to the ground. The stag's blade had not managed to pierce his helm, but it was painful enough to daze him. He felt his ears ringing and his mind scrambled.

Then he felt a great force strike him on the back, planting his face onto the ground. It took the breath out of him.

He weakly tried getting up, Stannis had just struck him on the backside with his shield. He raised his head, his eyes momentarily blinded as he saw the glint of a blade just inches from his neck.

"Do you concede?" Stannis Baratheon looked haggard, his shield arm hanging loosely as if it was ruined.

It was an odd feeling to lose when one had never lost in such a manner. Victarion did not feel rage or anger at his defeat by a southron lord.

Those eyes that stared at him were not the eyes of a soft southerner. Those were the eyes of salt and sea.

Ironborn.

* * *

His spent here for two days now. This place was haunting. He could not describe accurately what he felt; but, he felt like he did not belong within these halls. Dragonstone was like Pyke, what disturbed him was what differences it had.

This place was not of any make he knew of. Whatever created this place did so through no mortal methods. This was a creation of magic, foul magic of fire and blood. The fact that it stood within the sea, unharmed by her wrath only furthered made this place more disturbing for him.

Lord Stannis seemed well suited to be this place's lord. It matched his temperament. Grim and unrelenting.

Staying here reminded him of Pyke. Oh his now old and aging father, of Aeron and Balon. Even Euron now that he was gone. Pyke was his home among sea and salt. It was his one respite from the ravages of the world.

These greenlanders were different than the one's he was accustomed to.

Davos was not of noble blood, but even so was a man of the sea. He smelt it off him. The Maester was like any other, bookish and of little notice, the only noteworthy thing of him was his age. Lucerys Valeryon was an interesting personage as well, he had visited a day earlier and was instantly rankled by the presence of ironborn, he would have sundered his skull if not for Stannis' intervention. The redheaded knight was also among the offended, no doubt like many others they thought the ironborn rapacious brutes. Though that was not an entirely wrong description.

The whores from the westerlands were different. Each of them were the very image of what he thought when the word Greenlander was mentioned. All of them were weaklings who hid behind words and pretty dresses.

They paid the golden price.

Whilst he paid the iron price.

The iron price was all that mattered, indeed it was his House' own words.

We Do Not Sow.

He was particularly annoyed by one of them, a fat sow by the name of Leonella Lefford. She pestered him incessantly, tweeting away like some annoying bird.

She asked him what the Iron Isles were like and if the tales of their rapacious natures were true. He was close to giving her a firsthand explanation if she continued further.

Now he was in the chamber of the painted table, surveying the map of westeros. His eyes staring at the Iron Isles.

Stannis Baratheon was beside him, they were discussing something. His arm was in a cast of some sort as it was slowly impressed him, that the Lord of Dragonstone was willing to sacrifice an arm to prevent his departure. If the ironborn had the same dedication they would he ruling the world by now.

"The seas are clear and you are fully stocked." Stannis said plainly.

"Yes." Victarion said once he took his eyes off Pyke.

"Describe to me your route." Victarion slowly nodded.

"We would sail out of Blackwater bay; around Masseys hook, bypassing shipbreaker bay; pass the sea Of Dorne and continue our journey towards Old Town from whence we will rest and restock. Then we will sail directly towards the Iron Islands." Stannis nodded.

"What of the Valyrian blade?" Victarion did not wish for the southron lord to see it, but his squire had possessed it for a time.

The object that he so coveted was a Valyrian Steel blade that he had paid the Iron Price for, taking it from a fleet of merchant vessels that were from Lys. It had a purplish tint to it, shaped into a bastard sword.

"What do you mean?" Victarion did not like the stormlord talkings of the sword.

"Are you going to use it as it is?" The question bothered him.

"What is your meaning?" Stannis bent his head forward.

"You much prefer the axe correct?" Victarion nodded hesitantly at that.

"I know of a master weaponsmith in King's Landing who can re-forge it into an axe." Truly?

"I had done something for him in the past and hence he owes me some favors." Why was he doing this?

"Why?" Victarion voiced his simple question.

"Men who fulfill their duties need to be rewarded." That straightforward answer made him feel all manner of things.

"Even ironborn?"

"Even ironborn."

Just then Stannis managed to attain something that few Greenlander lords were capable of getting. A treasure that could not be bought with all the gold in the world. An artifact that is rarely seen in history, rarer than dragons even.

An ironborn's respect.

"Thank you." Was all Victarion could say in the end.


	9. A Bitter Wolf

**Note: 90% books, 10% show  
**

 **Disclaimer: A Song of Ice and Fire is owned by G.R.R Martin. This is a strict non-profit venture.**

* * *

The grim and eerie winds that whistled through his ears was a dark and forlorn song to listen to. Its touch was cold and biting, even for him. His grey eyes were heavy, set above dark sunken pits. He was aging too fast; he was too young to feel such weight upon his bones.

Eddard Stark was a silent fortress assailed by an army unending. Robert had taken Lyanna, even after all he had done for his cause. Catelyn despised the boy he named Jon, he of his line but not through his Tully wife's womb. He had just gotten into a scathing argument concerning the natural born son. Not only that but now she was pregnant again, and he feared what the stress would have done for his beloved's health.

It was problem upon problem that never relented. He had half the mind to go to the godswood, to feel the comforting presence of the old gods; but, ever since Lyanna all he felt when he basked under the gaze of the weirwood was no longer comfort but pity and scorn.

He had failed as a brother, a friend and a father.

He thought back to the men who accompanied him to that wretched tower. He thought back to Howland Reed and a barely living Ethan Glover. He remembered the face of a grief-stricken Ashara Dayne as they brought her ruined brother into Starfall.

He would never forget those burning violet eyes that bore into him.

His grey eyes were affixed to the south, longingly searching for his beloved sister. It had been too long since he last met her, she tried to smile through the tears as she was wedded to King Robert Baratheon. He remembered her fear and apprehension as she spoke of her unfaithful husband.

Every story of Robert's 'conquest's only brought even further disgust and anger within Eddard. A thousand innocents had died for the chance of marrying his sister gods damn it!

Eddard Stark stood on top of the walls of Winterfell. His body unmoving but his mind wandering throughout the seven kingdoms.

What was the entire point of it?

The Rebellion?

Was it to overthrow the Targaryens? To murder bloodily the children of Rhaegar and Elia Martell? Was it for the throne? The damned throne that Robert didn't even want at all?

Lyanna? Robert himself said it was all for her, was that a lie then? Robert already break his vows with his licentiousness.

Robert, what had happened to let their friendship become so frigid? What was it that caused his once brother to isolate himself within the viper's nest?

Eddard didn't know, all he had was a lingering fear deep in his chest.

Was Robert no better than Aerys?

It daunted him, the very prospect that the rebellion was all but a folly.

He shook his head, shaking off several flakes of snow that were resting upon him.

These thoughts served nothing but to sow doubt. There was no point in regret, all that needed to be done was to make just what was unjust.

He took a deep breath; he was of the North. The North was of him, he felt the winds that scoured the land. The first blanket of pure white snow, the rustling of the ironwood leaves. He heard the tumbling of the mountain stones, the waves of the Bay of seals and the bracken water of the Neck. All of this was of the North, of him and his bannerman.

Robert if he had still sense would know that even Northmen have the fury in them.

Lyanna will return back home, back to the north.

That was his vow to himself, even if honor demanded him to serve Robert dutifully. He would ensure Lyanna would return home.

If she didn't.

Then winter would come to King's Landing.

* * *

The wet-nurse left them after having let them suckle on her teats, he stared at them as they played with one another. He looked on as they laughed and smiled with their babe talk.

He allowed himself a single smile. No matter what Catelyn would say. They were brothers, no matter the womb which birthed them. They were Starks, in blood and spirit. Nothing could take that away from them. They were both sons of winter.

He carried Robb, the boy gave him a gleeful smile. He was young and already he saw the features of his beautiful mother. He possessed soft blue eyes and a small waft of auburn hair on his scalp. He looked over to Jon, the younger by several months, who was soundly asleep. The boy was still bald but he had once received a glance of his eyes.

They were cold, dark grey. These were Stark eyes he told himself.

A quiet shuffling noise shook him from his reverie. He turned and saw his lady-wife standing just beside the door.

She looked at him with eyes of ire and sadness.

"Have you come for your son or your natural son Ned?" At least bastard wasn't mentioned.

She saw the single tear running down her high cheekbones, her fair skin glowing with her new pregnancy. The luster on her auburn hair slightly fading as she was getting tired.

It was painful, to act so cruel towards her. She deserved much more than silence, but it had to be done. This was a promise; it was his honor that prevented him from doing so.

"Aye." He answered evasively, her lips curled slightly upwards. Set to a sad face.

"Who was she?" He did not wish to have this conversation again.

"This woman your heart loves more than I?" He felt his chest cave in at that question, Catelyn will always be his heart's desire. Though he may have doubts about the rebellion, his love for Cat was not among them.

"She was only a woman." Her eyes narrowed and she had an angry frown.

"Only a woman? She who makes good honorable Eddard Stark hide secrets from his wife?" Her voice wavered as she moved towards him, her hand hanging from the side, almost ready to deliver her chastisement.

"You dare not reveal her name to me! Your own wife! We spoke our vows under the eyes of Gods both old and new! So why do you not even tell me her name if she were but a woman?" Her hand was a scant few inches from his long face, hovering like an executioner's sword above the nape.

Tears dripped into the stone floor, her eyes staring at him accusingly.

'What was my sin?' Those eyes told him.

'What have I done for you to treat me so?' They begged with pained anger.

Eddard Stark felt like he was the most wretched man in the world. What sort of husband makes his lady-wife cry within the presence of their babe?

He held her gently, she slammed balled fists into his chest albeit halfheartedly. She cried on his chest, Robb had started crying too.

Eddard held her head, smiling at her with grey eyes.

"I cannot tell you who the boy's mother is, my honor would not allow it; but, know that there is no woman in all of Westeros who've I've loved more than you Catelyn Tully." He spoke softly but with a warmth not commonly found among a Northman.

"Stark, Catelyn Stark." She whimpered as she felt his embrace.

* * *

Things were getting better now; Catelyn had been mollified. Her hostility towards Jon had cooled but did not completely dissipate, that was fine. He did not expect her to forgive him. All he wanted was her to accept Jon was of his blood.

The problem was Jon.

He was now in the solar,reading through the multitude of letters that had started pouring forth since Robb had arrived here. He was holding a letter that bore the seal of House Karstark, a cadet branch of his own house.

He however didn't seem to be staring at it, but through it.

His mind lingered on someone else, Jon. Robb was only a babe and already proposals for his hand were being sent. Yet there would be none for Jon.

Mayhaps he should be sent to the Wall? It has always been custom for bastards of Stark blood to become a brother of the Night's Watch.

Then an image of Lyanna appeared.

He shook his head; Jon was no bastard. He couldn't decide that for him. He would give the choice to Jon when he was older. Jon may be his blood, but he wasn't from his womb. He couldn't force him to do things that he did not agree to on his lonesome.

Yet at that moment his thoughts drifted towards Robert. The King still had an unquenchable hatred of the Targaryens. He remembered the oath that Robert spoke.

'All Targaryen's must know my fury.'

He thought back to Jon in his cradle. How silent he was when he stared at everything.

Jon would live a difficult life, a life where honor would not be enough to save him.

It irked him to think of such things; but, the pain of Lyanna being confined to King's Landing had been addling his sense of honor. It was difficult to remain loyal to honor when one's sister was subject to a lifetime of torment just because he had fulfilled it.

So how then would he have Jon prepare for his difficult path? How would he ensure that he knew honor and ruthlessness in equal measure? How could he help him avoid the same fate the had befallen his poor mother?

He felt a sickness in his tummy as he thought of potential solutions.

No. It was wrong, he could never let Jon go _there._ His mind had been foolish for thinking that particular thought. It was just one of many, yet it was one that managed to worm its way into the forefront.

It was a ghastly idea; he didn't believe he was giving it the dignity of his consideration. It was a foul and cruel thought.

Yet he could not deny, there was some merit to it on closer inspection.

Sending Jon there would have protected him, the hosts of that place had warred with his house for countless centuries, but had remained loyal during the Rebellion. They were old and rightly feared if the stories of their malpractices were half true. He doubted they'd be foolish enough to let any harm befall even his natural son.

But it would mean Jon would for a long time be away from Winterfell. He wanted him to live here, to be raised here. For him to experience the things his siblings and he did when they grew up within their home.

Yet they did not have the burdens that Jon had, they did not have the stain of bastardry and the danger of his bloodline. Jon needed all the strength he needed for this.

He needed to be fostered with a cold and cruel house in order to survive.

His hand was shaking as he looked towards Maester Luwin. He was old, with grey eyes and grey hair. He wore a grey woolen robe and the heavy collar he wore seemed to weigh him down. He was busily attending to the letters, shifting the pile as to make it easier for the Lord Stark to read.

"Maester, I need to compose a letter." The Maester acknowledged him with a curious glance.

"Have you already accepted one of the proposals milord? Eddard shook his head.

"This is a different matter altogether, prepare a raven."

"Where to?"

Ned Stark grimaced grimly.

"The Dreadfort."

* * *

"Foster your natural son within mine halls?" Roose Bolton was an unnerving man to converse with. He was plain of face except for his dark eerie eyes. His voice was soft but carried a hidden menace.

They had said he still partook in the right of first night and of flaying, that evil practice that Eddard had banned within the North. Roose was dangerous, he could not deny that. Mayhaps a dangerous man would be necessary to ensure Jon's survival.

"I hope the circumstance of his birth does not offend you lord Bolton." Eddard spoke solemnly, still having doubts in his course of action.

"I too have a natural son whom I've taken under my wing. His mother had perished and he was brought to mine attention just recently." Roose spoke like him, cool and without warmth; but, that was where the differences laid. Roose seemed to be the sort of man incapable of warmth at all.

Still it was nice for Jon to get the chance to be fostered with one of a similar situation.

"May I know his name lord Roose?" Roose Bolton's cold eyes never strayed from him. They blinked so rarely that it felt as if he had been staring at him since the start of conversation.

"Ramsay Snow. You did not ask for me just because you wanted to know the names of natural sons my Lord Stark. What is the reason for your request?" Eddard felt uncomfortable telling Roose Bolton anything. It was like telling secrets to a Faceless Man.

"Jon needs to be strong." Stark said wretchedly. He was admitting to a Bolton that the Starks have become weak, but that was the truth. Lyanna was far away in King's Landing; Benjen had left in a quiet rage for the wall, resentful of how Eddard failed to bring back their sister, and Eddard himself was conversing with the most dangerous being in the North.

House Stark was not in the best of circumstances. Moreover Jon would eventually need to learn how to play the Game of Thrones if he ever wished to see his mother again, and only one house in the North were masters of it.

"I am flattered that you think mine house strong enough to foster your natural son." Ned didn't know if Roose was being sarcastic or contemptuous. It was so hard to know anything from his cold and monotone voice.

"The Lord Bolton has a daughter correct?" Roose remained quiet. His Ryswell wife had born him twins just after the Rebellion, a boy and a girl. Unfortunately, she perished due to childbed fever.

"Do you suggest she be betrothed to your heir?" Eddard shook his head, he was expecting that answer.

"She will be betrothed to Jon." Roose became deadly quiet, his eyes flickering with subtle malice.

"You brought me here just to slight me my lord?" Roose said dangerously, unheeding of his status as bannerman of Eddard Stark.

"Slight you? You think your daughter being betrothed to the new lord of Barrowtown a slight?" Eddard would not admit it; he did not expect the Lord of the Dreadfort capable of surprise.

Lady Barbery Dustin had perished of fever during the course of the Rebellion. Eddard didn't know whether he was relieved or saddened by that fact. In one hand it meant he would not receive an earful for not bringing back home the bones of Willam Dustin, on the other it meant house Dustin was no longer. There were probably some descents of House Dustin left, but it would be all but impossible to track down the ones closest to the main house and hence control of Barrowtown would revert back to him.

He thought long and hard about it, the bannermen would have found umbrage at Eddard Stark making Jon Lord of Barrowton, but it was the easiest way of removing the stain of bastardry on Jon. By making him the Lord of a new cadet branch of house Stark. He couldn't send him to the wall. His mother would never have forgiven him otherwise, Benjen already fulfilled the Stark duty of manning the wall. So this left Jon in a precarious situation.

Roose Bolton was of a similar mind, planning already just how he could benefit from this.

"The other bannermen would not take this lightly." Eddard nodded sadly at Roose' words.

"You make your natural son the lord of a powerful seat, half a dozen houses were sworn to house Dustin." Eddard nodded again.

"I have made my decision." He spoke plainly.

Roose continued his staring.

"You remain unconvinced?" Roose' let down his eyelids, thinking and thinking. He rested his chin on steepled fingers, his long hair hanging over him as he locked himself in his mental musings.

His eyes opened after the longest time, and he had a terrifying grin.

Roose Bolton did not smile; all he did was a poor imitation of one.

"The name of the boy's new house, is it set in stone?" Eddard eyes widened at that, he had forgotten such a basic thing.

"No, I suppose then that will be a task up to Jon." Roose smiled again, Eddard wished for him to not do such a ghastly show.

"Mayhaps I offer a suggestion? How does house Dreadwolf sound?" Dreadwolf? Such a frightening name.

"Jon Dreadwolf, I do not like the sound of it." Eddard found it to be a disturbing name to pronounce. There was nothing dreadful about the little boy. His mother as well would have found it queer to let him take such a name.

"It is an apt name. Your son with mine daughter would give birth to a house of both Bolton and Stark blood." Eddard did not think of it in such a way.

"Mayhaps this is a cause for celebration? Old enemies now united through blood with the birth of this new house." It sounded nice, but Roose Bolton made it sound more sinister than it should be.

"House Dreadwolf of Barrowton, no! Mayhaps Dreadbarrow? Let their words be 'Our Teeth our Sharp'!" Did Roose Bolton just sound out potential house words? Was he honestly excited about this?

Eddard Stark in that solar with the Lord of the Dreadfort felt like he had played a dangerous hand.

The way Roose spoke giddily of this, about how he spoke of this house. It perturbed him.

He couldn't help but think back of an earlier period of history when a new house was created the sameways "Dreadwolf" was.

A period where the red dragon fought the black one. An age where the Targaryen swords Blackfyre and Dark Sister clashed against one another.

Had he just condemned the North to a similar fate? He did not know.

All he knew was this.

Winter was coming.

And wolves and flayed men needed to band together to face it.


	10. The Queen of love and beauty

**Note: 90% books, 10% show  
**

 **Disclaimer: A Song of Ice and Fire is owned by G.R.R Martin. This is a strict non-profit venture.**

* * *

She shivered, staring with utter dread at the thing lying before her on the study. It was a small letter, recently brought to her by the old Maester. It bore a wax seal, the sigil of Lannister. She recognized this sigil, it belonged to her father's signet ring.

She didn't want to open it, she was fearful for what its contents would be. Would it be cold? Would it be more chastisement? She wasn't willing to open it.

No.

She was a Lannister, she had in her the blood of an ancient line. She refused to be cowed by her father, she was going to become the lioness she was always meant to be.

She prepared a deep breath, her eyes glittering with resolve.

She was a lioness.

She opened it, reading through the contents of the letter.

She read it once.

She read it twice.

Then a third final time.

Her hands shook as she placed the letter on the study, her eyes watering.

Her father and King Robert had gotten into a conflict of interests. The betrothal was still holding, but now it wasn't so certain. If Stannis Baratheon did not approve of her, then it would be over. Tywin sent this letter as a word of warning, if she failed in making Stannis fall for him. He would be extremely disappointed

Yet that wasn't what bothered her, the prospect of failing her father was marginal compared to not being able to remain in the presence of Stannis Baratheon.

That made her loathe herself even more, the fact she was more concerned with no longer being able to be with Stannis instead of fulfilling her duty to House Lannister.

She grabbed the curls of her golden hair, tears dripping into the study and the letter.

Why couldn't Jaime have said those words? Those words that said she was not some helpless maid? That she was indeed of the lion blood?

If Jaime had said those words she wouldn't be sitting here fretting over her fickleness.

Why did it have to be Stannis Baratheon?

No, only Stannis Baratheon could have said those words.

She stared deeply at her hands, her small dainty and beautiful hands. They were not the hands she wanted.

She wanted rough, calloused hands that could hold the sword as deftly as Maester's held the quill. She wanted scarred and toughed hands that could kill a man as easily as one breathes.

She didn't want to be born a woman, subject to the confines of being a woman. She wanted to be able to lash out, to be prideful and arrogant without nary a care. She wanted to be like Jaime, to be a knight who fights and brawls. She didn't want to be a lady whose only thoughts should be of marriage and motherhood.

She softly grabbed her chest, she felt its rhythmic beat.

She thought of Jaime.

The pace of the beating quickened.

She thought of Stannis.

The beating galloped.

Why did she so suddenly fall for Stannis Baratheon? He was everything that she thought she didn't want in a husband.

Course, curt, cold and distant. He was like her father in many respects, he had Tywin's dominating air. Both had an authoritative assuredness that made them men who were capable of doing no wrong.

No, Stannis Baratheon admitted his mistakes.

She thought back to the solar, she remembered Stannis Baratheon bowing slightly as he apologized and offered her a place in his council.

Her cheeks flared.

Her father would have done no such thing.

Even Jaime had not cared much for what she thought, only agreeing to every word she said.

Her eyes widened.

Her father never relented to her.

Her brother always did.

Stannis Baratheon, was none of those things.

She laid her back on the ash chair she sat upon, looking upwards towards the ceiling.

Stannis Baratheon was a good man. An honest man, who never once neglected to point out her flaws, but he did what no other good man did.

He spoke of her virtues as well.

Stannis Baratheon was the only man she knew of whose roughness she felt made him all the gentler. A word of praise from Stannis Baratheon meant something, it wasn't baseless sweet talk.

She had a gentle smile on her lips.

"Cersei Baratheon, I daresay it does have a certain charm to it." She spoke with soft amusement.

She looked back towards her father's letter.

"It shall be done." She spoke to no one but herself.

"For House Lannister and for myself." She repeated with a new found determination.

* * *

"The lady's nameday is fast approaching. Do you suppose lord Stannis has something in store?" Cersei was surprised, she had forgotten that her nameday was quickly coming to pass.

It had been but a day when she received the letter from her father, she had spent much of it thinking about how she was going to ensure Stannis Baratheon would not deny the betrothal. It somewhat slipped her mind she was about to reach her nineteenth year.

Leonella Lefford was brushing her golden mane gently, the other handmaidens were waiting by her side.

"Lord Stannis doesn't strike me the sort of man who celebrates namedays." Melessa Crakehall spoke out, her words had a certain truth to them.

"Will the lady be okay? You're so used to such grand spectacles back at home, what happens if it isn't to your liking? Daresay he might have forgotten it all together." Nerissa spoke out, recently she was getting a bit more sociable, especially with the Connington boy.

Shierle remained quiet, it was a queer silence for her face conveyed something else.

"What are you hiding from me?" Cersei asked as she noticed how odd she was being.

Shierle closed her mouth and puffed out her cheeks. She shared glances with the rest of the girls.

She let out a sigh.

"A tourney, they're planning a tourney." At that all the eyes in the room glittered.

"A TOURNEY!?" Leonella spoke excitedly, the fool always had a weakness for such things.

"A tourney?!" Nerissa spoke aghast, terrified at the prospect of being subject to the gazes of men.

"A tourney." Melessa spoke tiredly, no doubt if her father were present he would have pressed her to find a good husband among the knights in attendance.

"A tourney on Dragonstone? How do you know of such a thing?" Shierle shifted her eyes, as if spies were eavesdropping on their lady talks.

"Ser Davos spoke of it, apparently Lord Stannis did not think himself knowledgeable enough to handle such things and delegated the task to him. He told me to tell the lady when I thought most prudent, he didn't think it could remain kept a secret." She spoke a bit embarrassed at already spoiling the surprise.

"I do not recall a jousting field being present here." Dragonstone was a small place. She doubted its suitability for such grand affairs.

"It isn't being held in Dragonstone." This surprised them all.

"Where then?" They all asked in unison.

"It's being hosted by House Celtigar on Claw Isle."

* * *

The seat of House Celtigar was different from the environs of Dragonstone. It was less mountainous, with more flatland which made sense in making it the venue from whence her nameday was to be celebrated. The castle that housed the Celtigars was a startling contrast when compared to Dragonstone.

It was not of Valyrian make but of traditional Andal stonework. It's occupants where rich and opulent, their halls adorned with treasures she would have found more fitting in the Westerlands.

The Celtigar's were a house of Valyrian descent, some of their members exhibited the looks common to the Valyrian race. Lord Ardrian Celtigar was not among them, he was an old woodened scab of a man who was ostentatious in his display. He wore a mantle consisting of red garnet crabs that even she found garish and a quilted doublet that was sewed with red and white threads that was paired with trousers made in the color of milky white.

"I welcome you to my seat Lady Cersei. I am honored that mine Lord entrusts me with ensuring your nameday is a memorable one." Celtigar was dull and drab, she couldn't believe a man with such loud fashions could be so plain in personality. Did Stannis ensure such things in his bannermen?

She smiled and curtsied, they had just arrived on the port. Ser Davos, Ser Ilyn Payne and her handmaidens were present with her. Lord Stannis on the other hand was nowhere to be seen.

"The honor is mine Lord Celtigar. I am impressed by the grandeur of your seat." She spoke with practiced courtesy.

Ardrian smiled, at least he didn't share Lord Stannis' aversion to such things.

"I'm elated the Lady speaks so highly of my holdings, I take great care in lording over them." He sounded very satisfied with himself.

It was surprising how much wonders can sweet words produce in men.

"No wonder then did Lord Stannis find you worthy of hosting mine nameday, speaking of which have you met the Lord?" Cersei couldn't help but worry just where Stannis was. Was he even present?

Ardrian gave her a small frown.

"I expected the Lord to be by your side." He looked over towards Lord Davos who shared their confusion.

"Lord Stannis said he had to attend to some duties, but he assured me that he would arrive." Davos said not even sure of himself.

"What about Lord Dayne?" Shierle spoke out, a little bit too concerned for the 'Darkstar'.

"Accompanying him as well I'm afraid, along with Red Ronnet." Ser Davos looked towards Nerissa as he said that name, undoubtedly mindful of how the boy was trying to court her.

Her heart lurched inwardly.

Did Stannis Baratheon not feel her nameday worthy of his time?

* * *

The jousting fields were resplendent in their pomposity; she was surprised that there were such a number of knights. She was unsure of the number, but as she sat from the Celtigar pavilion she believed the number to be around five dozen jousters. A big sum for such a small tourney. The proud and colorful pitched tents all flew banners that billowed in the wind, she saw masses of people that were inconceivable in a place such as Dragonstone.

It's splendor almost reminded her of the tourneys in Highgarden and Casterly Rock.

Almost.

She had to admit Ser Davos had done a splendid job in organizing this entire affair. Many knights from many houses were in attendance. She even saw banners from houses from the other realms.

It made her all the more bitter when she received back letters from her father that he was unable to attend, the letter she sent to Jaime had not been answered at all. It was unfair, King's Landing was not so far from this place, why did her father and Jaime not have the time to bother with her nameday?

Her mind drifted to Stannis Baratheon and his conspicuous absence.

He was no better than the two of them.

She had a nasty scowl in her face, one that hid the pain she felt.

The first ceremony was the presentation of arms. Many knights in their full livery trotted across the full length of the field, presenting their arms to Lady Cersei and Lord Celtigar before waving towards the adoring crowd.

Among the arms she saw the houses sworn to Dragonstone.

The flying blue swordfish on silver links on white of House Bar Emmon; the silver sea horse on sea blue of House Velaryon; the seven stars on white of House Sunglass; two griffin's combatant, one white and one red on fields of the contrasting color that belonged to House Connington.

She saw the arms of Ser Ilyn Payne, gold coins in the checks of a checkered purple and white field. He had entered the tourney as well. She couldn't remember the last time the man jousted.

She saw the arms of a yellow tower, aflame on its summit, laid on a black pile on a field of red. It belonged to House Grafton, a house from the Vale. Whilst her kind where simply hours away from here.

A red salmon within a gold tressure belonged to House Mooton of Maidenpool from the Riverlands, their lord was participating in the tourney. Myles Mooton, a former squire to Rhaegar who would have perished, subject to the fury of King Robert if not for the fact the man had accidentally saved the life of Denys Arryn; the current heir to the Vale during the Battle of the Bells.

Speaking of Denys Arryn, he himself was present. Apparently he had received news of the tourney whilst under the hospitality of House Grafton and elected to join them. The gallant flying blue eagle on a white moon on the field of blue served as his arms.

The final major arms of note belonged to a Stormlands house, House Buckler of Bronzegate. Theirs was of three brass buckles lain on a blue field. Ser Davos made mention of a Ser Brus Buckler. A young knight who it seemed was skilled in lance

The next arms consisted of hedge knights and minor knights from houses of little note.

She was incensed, she did not see the stag on yellow among these arms.

Was she wrong?

Was Stannis merely just another liar?

She pushed her emotions inward. She needed to put out a cool façade. She was not going to let this bother her.

Immediately after the ceremonies did the tourney truly begin.

The first on the list of the first round was Lord Myles Mooton against the man he saved, Ser Denys Arryn. Ser Denys was a cocky but valiant figure who had made a show of revealing the favor granted to him by his wife, the niece of Lord Paramount Jon Arryn. Lord Myles Mooton clearly not wanting to be undone took a favor from the nearest maiden he chanced upon.

Melessa Crakehall.

It was a delight to see the normally stoic girl get flustered as the Mooton knight hurried her to give him her favor as to not embarrass himself in front of the crowd.

Denys however all the while loudly heckled his poor counterpart.

"Have you already been outdone Lord Mooton? Already asking the poor maiden to joust in your place?" Cersei was about to answer back when Myles Mooton did it for her.

"Not at all Ser Denys, If I wanted someone able to best you I wouldn't ask aid from such a lovely lady. She would be an opponent a tad bit too much for you to handle." At that there were many snickering's and bouts of laughter.

Ser Denys scowled in annoyance while Melessa just blushed furiously.

Her father would have loved to bear witness to such a sight.

The two knights took their place on the opposite ends of the field.

Ser Denys was garbed in a silver treasure, a plate of pure glittering metal that could have blinded them. His helm fashioned with great wings ready to take flight with a cuirass that had the etchings of feathers on them.

Lord Mooton was garbed in armor that was colored half red and half white. A large salmon's tail jutting from the crown of his helm, and a gorget fashioned with red fish scales.

Both men charged towards each other on majestic barded desteriers. Denys rode aggressively, eyes fixed on while Lord Mooton opted a more defensive stance.  
As they neared Denys launched his lance, only to miss his mark whilst Lord Mooton deftly stroke him on the chest. The Arryn heir was immediately unhorsed, groggily getting to his feet after the Salmon knight passed.

His once shining armor now an utter mess.

"God's damn it Mooton this was my favorite plate." The Arryn heir complained.

"Shouldn't have worn it to the tourney." Lord Mooton answered lightheartedly.

"Now it'll be mine alongside your horse." Ser Denys gave him a dark glare.

"You're supposed to let me ransom them back you thrift!" Lord Mooton laughed at the indignation on his friend's face.

The Lord of Maidenpool made another pass towards the pavilion she was seated in, passing back Melessa's favor towards her.

"I thank you my lady." He spoke with a warm tone.

He was a handsome man underneath that visor, he had a strong jaw, with a small nose and a wide face. His eyes were light blue and he had a jagged scar on his lip.

It was no surprise then that Melessa Crakehall found herself too shy to speak out.

"I-It is no trifle my lord." Poor girl, almost choked on her tongue.

The second pair on the list was too little of notice to make mention of, Ser Brus Buckler had easily unhorsed his opponent, some bastard hedge knight from the Crownlands. It was too quick and the bastard hedge knight was left in a ruined state.

She expected the third pair to have been quite the same for Ser Illyn Payne was riding against a hedge knight whose title was "Ser Nameless" it was an apt name for there was nothing remarkable about him or his courser.

The two quiet men did not partake in the banter of the first pair, immediately beginning the first tilt, which was to the favor of Ser Illyn Payne. Cersei couldn't help but cringe at how Ser Illyn absolutely battered her foe with the strike of his lance. It was a miracle the hedge knight remained seated at all. He had arched backwards from the sheer blow.

The second tilt was just like the first. Ser Ilyn Payne would strike out savagely while his opponent simply persevered onward. By then Cersei started to take notice of this Ser Nameless.

He seemed greatly battered but yet remained undaunted.

The third tilt was a shock for a great number of them. Ser Illyn Payne managed to strike him for a third time, but now Ser Nameless had managed to get a hit as well and it took Ser Ilyn by complete surprise, unhorsing him cleanly.

It broth forth massive cheers from the smallfolk in the crowd who were taken in by a mysterious hedge knight defeating such an implacable foe.

Cersei Lannister couldn't help but feel something familiar about this knight.

* * *

They had reached the final round in short order.

It was going to be between Lord Myles Mooton and Ser Nameless.

Lord Mooton had unhorsed two particularly strong knights. Ser Gilbart Grafton, the heir to Gulltown; who had previously unhorsed the younger brother of Lord Lucerys Velaryon, Ser Aerion, two to one. Lord Mooton's opponent before Ser Gilbert was a son of Lord Ardrian Celtigar; Ser Criston Celtigar, who had managed to gain the favor of Leonella much to her chagrin as the girl could not stop cooing about it.

Ser Nameless on the other hand was a surprising last contender, he had just barely survived his pairing with Ser Ronald Connington who was a master of the lance, repeating the same tactic he used on Ser Ilyn. Ser Ronald it appeared was surprised by the tenacity of his foe; before Ser Ronald he faced off against several other knights, chief among them was Ser Brus Buckler who had started the first tilt aggressively, managing to land a devastating blow but ending up exposing himself to a lance that unhorsed him. She noticed that strike had taken the wind out of the mystery knight.

When the first tilt of the last round began they expected a long drawn out affair.

Lord Mooton jousting defensively whilst Ser Nameless would try to withstand him. Imagine their collective surprises as they both aggressively charged each other.

In a complete departure of expectations both men had within minutes unhorsed each other within the same moment. Each lying face down on the mud.

Both of their squires went into the field, assisting both men back to their horses.

The squire of Lord Mooton was a spindly looking child with brown hair, whilst the squire of Ser Nameless had garbed himself in a cloak of thick linen.

What an odd looking squire.

Their second tilt was less reckless now, both had returned to their earlier stances in previous tilts. Lord Mooton on the defensive while Ser Nameless would brace for the blow.

Lord Mooton managed to strike at his chest, the mystery knight had missed Lord Mooton with his lance.

Then something spectacular happened.

Ser Nameless managed to strike a second time.

It was almost impossible to bear witness to. The hedge knight had in the manner of two seconds, bring back his lance and thrust it again.

Lord Mooton was immediately unhorsed, whilst Ser Nameless was clinging to the side of his courser's saddle.

It was a victory that brought forth mad cheering among the hysterical crowd.

Ser Nameless did not heed the cheers going his way as he went over to his squire, acquiring another lance. He galloped towards the pavilion, using the lance to lift up the wreath of flowers that he would use to crown his queen of love and beauty.

Lord Ardrian Celtigar and Ser Davos Seaworth did not have time to congratulate him when Ser Nameless foisted the lance towards Cersei Lannister.

All cheers died as soon as everyone grew aware of Ser Nameless' choice.

Cersei's eyes widened as she saw the laurel of blood red roses lofted in front of her by a gnarled lance.

The handmaidens had their hands on their mouths, unbelieving of the gall of such a gesture.

Ser Davos' jaws had dropped, clearly taken back by such a display.

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS? LADY CERSEI IS BETROTHED TO LORD STANNIS BARATHEON!" Ardrian Celtigar bellowed out with utter fury at the audacity of the knight.

It was like a reenactment of the tournament that lead to Robert's Rebellion.

The mystery knight thrust his lance slightly, allowing the crown to drop unto Cersei's lap.

He threw away his lance, and removed his helm.

Cersei Lannister stared breathless at the man who was staring back at her.

He had blood streaming from his nostrils and mouth, no doubt the price for his commitment to his jousting strategy.

His jaw set to a hard scowl and his face as tight as leather. His dark blue eyes bore into her soul, and his crown of quickly disappearing hair was damp in sweat.

"A pretty crown for a pretty lion." Were the words Stannis Baratheon spoke out to her in haggard breaths.

At that moment her heart raptured.

Now she knew why.

Why she loved Stannis Baratheon.


	11. A Terrified Stag

**Note: 90% books, 10% show  
**

 **Disclaimer: A Song of Ice and Fire is owned by G.R.R Martin. This is a strict non-profit venture.**

* * *

It was not the pain that bothered him, it was easier to be dealt than the feeling of starvation. Nor was it Cressan's methods in relieving his ailing wounds. Cressan was old but his knowledge of the medical arts was not dampened by his age. The Firemilk was effective in healing his bruises, though it might have weakened him enough to prevent him from participating in the morrow's grand melee.

It wasn't the panicked begging for forgiveness from Lord Ardrian Celtigar that bothered him either. Stannis Baratheon found it more annoying that he thought him dumb for not realizing how easily it would have been for one to mistake him as just a mere hedge knight when he wore full plate and used a blank sigil.

Nor was it the outcome of the tourney, he knew he was never the most skilled of jousters, indeed he was surprised he managed to unhorse the great Salmon Knight himself. After Ser Brus Buckler he had thought he would be incapable of doing such a deed, that Buckler boy had a strength that was surpassed only by Victarion Greyjoy.

No it was the mischievous smirk on Davos' face throughout Cressan's tending. That constant queer smile that had never left since he had arrived within their tent.

"Would you like to share what has amused you so Ser Davos?" Davos still continued smiling, showing no hint that he had even heard his request.

"She still wears it, that wreath of flowers that you crowned her with, I daresay she might even sleep with it." By her he assumed he was referring to Lady Cersei Lannister.

"Is that cause enough for the queer face you make?" Davos incline his head by an inch. His eyes falling on him, searching for something.

"I'm surprised you would participate as a mystery knight. The story of Ser Nameless who unhorsed the famed Salmon Knight would be a tale for seasons to come, the part where he reveals himself a prince and crowns the beautiful Cersei Lannister as his queen of love and beauty I wager would be a constant in the minds of young maidens who fancy such a thing to befall them." Stannis never liked it when Davos wasn't being direct.

"Get to your meaning Ser Davos." The Onion Knight sighed.

"Why did you do it? Why put so much effort in concealing your identity and crowning Lady Cersei?" Stannis did not believe that was what had made Davos so amused.

"I didn't have time." Davos acknowledged him with dumbfounded confusion.

"Didn't have enough time?" Stannis might have needed to explain himself more clearly.

"I barely made it here through horse. The plate armor is not mine but of a smith down in King's Landing. By the time I arrived the tourney was about to begin." Davos' confusion remained still.

"So you hid your identity simply because you did not have the time to say otherwise? If that's the case, then why crown Cersei Lannister?" Stannis did not understand the meaning of his question.

"Why?" Davos nodded his head in affirmation.

"She's my betrothed, to choose another would be cause for scandal." That didn't satisfy Davos.

"You made a grand show of it. What you did was not something Stannis Baratheon did, that was something Robert would have done." Stannis would have been angered by the comparison if any other man did so. Not Davos, the man was his shield and hand. He was also right.

"I don't know." Stannis spoke dully.

"You don't know?" Davos only got more confused as the conversation continued.

"I figured since it was her nameday then it would only be prudent if I made spectacle out of it." The more Davos spoke of it the more Stannis realized that this wasn't typical of him. He was not the kind to partake it such dramatic gestures.

"You wanted her to be happy in her nameday?" Davos' smile returned which vexed Stannis tenfold than what it originally did.

"Want her happy? What makes you say such a thing so suddenly?" Stannis winched as Cressen started wrapping the linen around his torso.

"Mayhaps the Lord Stannis did it to mollify the Lady Cersei?" Cressan had elected to join the conversation now that he was just about down tending to Stannis.

"She has never liked Dragonstone nor him, so maybe this was simply the Lord's way of making her more comfortable of him being her husband? Maybe even unknowingly?" Davos contemplated on what the Maester said.

"I suppose." Davos was starting to be convinced, but not fully.

"I do feel it is inaccurate for you to say Lady Cersei doesn't like Lord Stannis however." Now that took Stannis by surprise.

"On what grounds? She had earlier made it very clear to me that she despises me." Davos shook his head.

"A woman's words are fickle things. What she says is different from what she truly feels. I think in the recent weeks the Lady Lannister might even grow fond of you Lord Stannis." This was the first time Stannis heard of such a thing. The lioness no longer angry of the stag? How droll.

"I will believe otherwise if she were to admit it." Still he was not going to be entirely trustful of Davos when it came to Lady Cersei. The lioness has proven to be a deceptive little minx.

"That might not be a time faraway my lord. Just keep it mind, she wears the crown constantly now. I would say it could be because for vanity's sake, but the smile she wears. It is a smile from the heart. I truly feel that she might even adore you for doing such a thing." Stannis was uncomfortable at the prospect of the Lady Lannister 'adoring' him.

He didn't want her to 'adore' him just because of some wreath of flowers, he didn't want someone's affections if it were for such shallow things.

Yet.

To have someone be affectionate of him. It was a rare thing for him to have, he only knew a handful of people who honored him with their affection.

He wouldn't admit it, but seeing the face on Cersei Lannister when he put the wreath of roses on top of her golden mane.

He couldn't help but smile as well.

Why were women such strange and vexing creatures to comprehend?

They were mercurial and as chaotic as the waves, yet with just a smile they can make men do foolish acts.

Curse the gods for giving them such terrible powers.

* * *

The festivities were far and away from what Dragonstone had held. A dozen lords and knights were feasting together, all the whilst speaking rowdily and stepping near the line of what proper decorum would allow.

Davos was by his side, conversing with a minor lord of the Crownlands. Stannis himself had found himself speaking to Ser Brus Buckler.

"Once again I apologize my Lord. To your credit I didn't expect you to unhorse me in such a manner." Brus Buckler was a young man full of vigor and strength. He had a heroic look to him, strong jaw, strong thick nose and a long scar lining his bald scalp.

His was a common face within the Stormlands.

"To your credit I didn't expect it as well." Stannis was ever an honest voice; he truly did not believe he would have been able to withstand the Buckler's overwhelming blow.

"Mine thanks for the kind words Lord Stannis. My kin would scarcely believe that Lord Stannis Baratheon of all men would speak praise of my skill." Ser Brus was a glib man, not the sort who takes conduct too seriously. It was both refreshing and frustrating.

The knight took out a bite from the lamprey pie that was served as the third course, there were three more courses until the night ended.

Stannis couldn't help but ask.

"What news of Storm's End?" Ser Brus chewed silently at that question, a lot more morose now. He seemed to understand the cause for Stannis' sudden question.

"Lord Paramount Renly Baratheon is being tutored as expected. I hear he's squiring under Lord Bryen Caron." The Lord of Nightsong?

"He's been very eager in finding for Lord Renly a wife among his many daughters." Bryen was an ambitious sort, the marcher lord had been very obvious in his desire of attaining more power for himself.

Last he heard he was trying to acquire support from the other lords in his bid to stake a very weak claim on the former lands of House Connington.

Ambition was a sweet poison that often men would drink in succor even knowing the fact it killed.

"Who rules in Renly's name? I heard there was a change in regents." At that Ser Brus Buckler gave him a smile.

"Mine cousin Lord Ralph Buckler. He managed to usurp the position from the Lord Estermont. There's tension within the Stormlands Lord Stannis Baratheon. Lord Renly does not inspire much confidence among his bannerman." Stannis expected half as much, his brother was a frivolous wastrel who preferred to lark at pretty clothes than learn the duties of rulership.

"It's a tragedy that King Robert had chosen him instead of you as Lord Paramount of the Stormlands." Stannis' eyes narrowed , Ser Brus had paused in his small feasting, now looking nervous at the very dangerous looking Stannis Baratheon.

"That's a very bold statement Ser Brus." His voice was low and harsh. Like tumbling stone during a thunderstorm.

"N-No offense my Lord! Simply the musings of a daft knight." Brus tried to save face in his transgressions, knowing fully if Stannis was inclined he could have had him flogged or worse.

"Keep your musings to yourself. The King would not take kindly to such gossip talk." Stannis warned.

"But it's talk that is common among the Stormlords, mine tongue is not the first to speak of such things. I hear the first among the voices was your grandfather and he's been doing all he can in ensuring you become the Lord Paramount in Renly's stead." Stannis had heard of his grandfather speaking out against the appointment of Renly to the lordship. He thought them rumors, unfortunately it didn't seem to be the case.

"It seems I may need to write a letter to the Lord Estermont then." Ser Brus took a sip from his tankard of ale.

"To ask for his support?" Stannis shook his head.

"To ask him to desist." Ser Brus seemed at first surprised, but then had a smile on his lips.

"It's true then what they say about you my Lord." Stannis did not understand the meaning of what he said.

"Who are they that you speak of? What do they speak of me?" Ser Brus chuckled.

"The Stormlords, they say that Lord Stannis Baratheon worships duty like it was of the Seven." Stannis was unsure if that was praise or scorn.

"Worry not Lord Stannis. The Stormlords are fond of quarrel, but they know where their duty lies."

Stannis sincerely hope they did.

It would be a lie if he said he didn't covet Storm's End.

Yet he would not have approved of gaining it through any other means than through Robert directly.

Robert would know that he still had a second brother.

Ser Brus Buckler had excused himself when a certain golden haired maiden approached them.

"Lady Cersei Lannister, a happy nameday do you." Ser Brus spoke with courtesy.

"Ser Brus Buckler, your bout against my betrothed was most impressive. He was barely clinging to his saddle after your hit." Stannis couldn't stop staring at the laurel atop her crown. She was still wearing it?

"Such praise honors me greatly Lady Lannister. Would you mind if I excused myself for the moment?" He glanced back towards Stannis Baratheon, giving him a smile that he had earlier seen in Davos.

Were all the men here queer in the head?

Cersei agreed as Ser Brus slinked away like some sort of snake. She took her seat by his side, no long avoiding his gaze like it was such a poison thing.

"The feast has been so far to my satisfaction, Ser Davos had done a splendid job." She spoke with her typical haughty Lannister tone.

"Ser Davos has a gift for such things." Stannis saw no need to flower his speech needlessly.

"Indeed he does. Yet the grand revelation you made was a moment not many would forget, I'm curious as to why you did it the way you did." She stared at him, eyes longing for something.

Stannis relayed to her what she told to Davos. Not wishing to repeat this conversation once more.

"So this was a mere accident? A whim subject to chance?" She sounded offended. He did not know why.

"You did not plan for such a thing? Did you even intend for me to have this crown?" Why was she so on edge?

"I did not expect to win, nor to arrive in a timely manner. But the crown, it was always meant for you." She blushed at that. Was she angry that he had intended her to be his queen of love and beauty? Mayhaps Davos was wrong when he said she approved of it.

"W-Why?" Her breath was getting erratic.

"Tis your nameday." Such a simple answer didn't satisfy her.

"Is that all?" Stannis was unsure as to what she meant.

"Normally a man who crowns his queen of love and beauty intends to court her." She spoke annoyingly, mindlessly prodding the lemon cake before her with a fork.

"Are we not betrothed?" She stared at him with sad eyes.

"Are we truly?" Stannis couldn't make sense of her.

"You said earlier than you didn't approve of this match, and if you had your say it would be severed." She spoke with a melancholy he couldn't comprehend. Did the thought of the betrothal being rendered void scare her?

"Yes. I did." She stopped prodding the lemon cake, staring at it idly.

"Please don't." She spoke so softly that he almost didn't hear it amidst the noise of the feasting hall.

"Don't?" She stared at him now, with eyes as hard as his.

"Don't break the betrothal, even if Robert would allow you to do so. Let it come to pass." Stannis stared at her, trying to figure out if she was hiding any ulterior motives.

"Why?" Cersei stared back towards her handmaidens, he followed her gaze as they saw Lady Shierle and Lord Gerold have an argument several places away from them.

They saw Ronnet Connington and Nerissa Banefort sitting closely to one another, the Banefort girl leaning on him on a closer inspection.

They saw Ser Myles Mooton as he conversed with Melessa Crakehall, she was laughing at something he had just said. Her earlier apprehension now gone as he reveled in his japes.

They saw Leonella Lefford incessantly tittering with a nervous and haggard Criston Celtigar.

She saw them and had a soft smile.

"It's your duty." Stannis didn't like it when she used his own words against him.

"I promise I shall give you as much children as you want, that I will run your household faithfully and ensure your line grows stronger." So much promises, yet she hadn't done anything that made him believe them.

"I remember distinctly you saying you hated me." Cersei cringed, a wretched frown on her lips.

Stannis Baratheon was confused as to why he didn't like seeing such a frown.

"I recant that statement." She whispered out.

"Why? Is it because of the pretty flowers on your head?" She recoiled at what he said. An incredulous look on her face.

"You think me petty enough that a wreath of flowers is all it took to change mine mind?" Stannis wasn't expecting such an answer.

"Yes." Her face contorted into pain, Stannis felt like he had done a grave misdeed.

"I am a lioness, stag. My whims are not for you to know." She bitterly spat out as she bolted out. Leaving him by his lonesome.

"Stannis, what did you do?" Davos asked once he had had noticed how Cersei stormed out.

"I think I may have made a mistake." Stannis felt he had been making many mistakes ever since he had played host to the lioness.

* * *

He had scoured the entire castle for her, it was a troublesome thing. A scorned woman was one of the most vexing creatures on Westeros to deal with, there was no single proven method in taming them, more subject to chance than skill.

It was fortunate then that he finally found her within a balcony jutting out the central keep of the Celtigar seat. Just near the stone railing.

She still wore that stupid crown of flowers as she stared towards the night sky. Her scarlet gown was shining dazzlingly under the moonlight.

Stannis Baratheon saw no need to conceal his footsteps. He cared naught if she were to flee once more, he would simply find her again.

He stood right beside her. In the darkness much of her face was covered, even then he still saw the tears.

"Am I foolish?" Lady Cersei asked dully.

Stannis remained quiet.

"Am I foolish for being so enraged by what you said? Even if I had done nothing to dispel such notions?" Her voice was cracking like broken glass.

"No." She stared downwards at the sea.

"Why not?" Stannis thought the answer obvious.

"I am not a man of tact. Any other man would have said the words I said with more courtesy." Cersei laughed softly at that.

"Lord Stannis, your bluntness is one of your greatest virtues." He thought she was japing, she wasn't.

"Please never say anything with tact." She smiled at him, it was a beautiful smile. A smile that made him feel a strange warmth deep down.

There was a long silence between them.

"I have a gift." Stannis said out awkwardly in an effort to break it, as if he didn't know if this was the appropriate time to say anything.

"A gift?" Cersei regarded him with curiosity.

Stannis retrieved the sheathed dagger around his sword belt, he handed it to her.

"I had in commissioned in King's Landing, a work of the famed Tobho Mott himself." Mott was a smith who learned his art from Qohor. He was a master of both weaponsmithing and armorsmithing, he had recently become more of a friend than a mere acquaintance. Stannis had become his 'raven' of sorts, the smith needed a discrete method of sending back letters to his homeland and he apparently trusted Stannis with such a duty. In return he would offer his services at a large discount.

Cersei unsheathed it, seemingly marveled by its make.

The pommel was made of gold, fashioned into the head of a lion; the grip was wrapped with thick dried leather; the guards in the form of paws. The blade itself was razor sharp, tinted with a dark red metallic hue.

It was a fine but expensive blade.

"When did you have this made?" She said in awe of it.

"A week after your arrival, before Lord Gerold Dayne became my squire." Cersei stared at him with eyes unbelieving.

"That soon?" Stannis nodded.

"I had known earlier how your nameday would coincide with your stay here; hence I prepared the necessary coin to fund this tourney and to commission this gift." Cersei's jaw dropped slightly.

"T-This tourney. It was funded by you alone? Not by the Celtigars?" Stannis nodded again.

"W-Why?" There were tears welling in her eyes. Stannis couldn't help but be annoyed by how ungrateful she was. Was this not enough?

"You are my honored guest, it is my duty to ensure you are being accommodated." Cersei was openly weeping now.

"Is this not enough?" Stannis just looked as she cried further and further.

Then something he didn't foresee happen.

She hugged him.

He felt her head on his chest, the tears streaming down her cheeks onto his leather jerkin.

He stood there dumbfounded, unsure on what was going on.

"I'm sorry Lord Stannis. What I'm doing is completely out of the bounds of proper etiquette, but I can't show my thanks in any other way." Thanks?

She stepped back, wiping off the tears with the sleeves of her red dress.

"This is the best nameday I've ever had." Stannis couldn't believe those words. This can't possibly the best nameday she's ever had. The Westerlands would have far more grander tourneys than this, with a hundred dashing knights and all the lords of Westeros in attendance. Not this sad affair attend by a handful of lords, none of the lord paramounts were attending. Indeed her own family were not here to celebrate it.

She regarded her dagger once more. A big joyous smile on her face.

"That dagger is no mere mantle piece. I fully intend to teach you how to use it." He told her as she ran a finger down the edge.

Stannis had found himself unprepared for this. He was expecting a tantrum, not … adulation.

She held the blade as if it was something else. She treated it like it was some sort of ancient Valyrian treasure, or the crown to the Iron Throne. He didn't understand why she would love it so.

She then gave him a smile like no other.

Every bit of her famed beauty was concentrated into that single smile. It was a smile of both joy and sadness, of both relief and anxiety. It was a smile that would ever haunt him.

"I would love that my Lord Stannis." A dark and terrible feeling had gripped his stone heart, making it beat more than it normally would.

He couldn't understand the warmth that was now building deep within him.

He couldn't understand and he couldn't' fathom it.

He never felt anything of its ilk for so long.

The last time he felt this way was in the presence of his parents.

Cersei Lannister was a dangerous woman.

Nothing had made him feel fear in such a manner.

Not Robert.

Not the power of the entire Reach.

Nor even death.

Stannis Baratheon was terrified of Cersei Lannister.

Terrified of the implications of all this.


	12. A Bitter Huntsman

**Note: 90% books, 10% show  
**

 **Disclaimer: A Song of Ice and Fire is owned by G.R.R Martin. This is a strict non-profit venture.**

* * *

His liege lord it seemed had been carousing like he usually did, hence why he found himself stuck within this chamber waiting for him. He was the only one currently seated here. He couldn't help but admit this was an annoyance that was slowly getting on his nerves.

Mace Tyrell did not even bother informing him in person that the council meeting had been cancelled, instead delegating the task to a mere servant boy. No doubt the rest of the lords who constituted Mace's council had been informed before he was.

Unbelievable.

The Reach needed to rebuild, not partake in hedonistic indulgences.

Robert's Rebellion had been an incredibly turbulent period for the Reach, when the Florents and Hightowers declared for Robert they had found themselves plunged into a civil war. Randyll Tarly had played an important role in his suppression of the Florents, he had commanded the van that set Brightwater Keep aflame. Yet it was a strategic blunder that he had never really forgiven himself for.

It cost them several days of marching, and was one of the contributing factors that lead to the Battle of Ashford ending so inconclusively with Robert's escape.

In the aftermath of the war the Florents remained the Lords of Brightwater, which was to his misfortune as Lord Alestor Florent declared that Houses Florent and Tarly would forever be locked in a blood feud. This lead to the breaking of the betrothal between him and Melessa Florent.

So he remained unwed.

He was getting old now, and he needed a strong heir for his house. There were few women within the Reach who could offer him such an heir. Many of the other Reach houses had been wary in offering the hands of their daughters due to the stories that have sprung around him.

Alester Florent had spread preposterous rumors of his conduct during the siege of Brightwater, telling tall tales of how babes and young milkmaids were raped and their mutilated flesh consumed by his men and him in a grand orgy of depravity that made the Warrior himself weep in shame.

Absurd!

He was no Mountain that Rides!

So he couldn't fathom how far these stores had spread within the Reach and even beyond.

'Randyll the Cannibal.'

That was what the minstrels would sing, the especially foolish ones right before his presence. It had rankled him that Mace had done nothing in addressing such slander. Instead Mace found it had a nice rhyme to it, thankfully his mother the good Olenna Redwyne as always had the mind to chastise her son for his lack of tact.

The Queen of Thorns was the only one who had the mind to combat such outrageous rumors, saying angrily how Randyll Tarly was a true and tried servant most leal to Highgarden and how he didn't deserve such grievous insults.

Speaking of the dowager-lady, she had just entered the council chamber flanked by two massive robust men. A surprise for he had heard she was off to Dorne.

She walked with a gnarled cane that made a loud clanging sound every time it made contact with the floor. She wore a multi-layered dress. The inner layer was made of pure satin green while the outer layer made of wool dyed in green with golden stiches that formed the shapes of roses.

Her hair was held in place by two queer massive headpieces that made her look like some sort of horned game.

Above her collar was a necklace made of silver chain and bore several gems, all of them cut with masterful craftsmanship.

Yet all that finery couldn't hide the fact she was old. Her wrinkled skin was greyish-white, and her eyes seemed dazed over.

"Oh dear Randyll, I suppose you've fallen victim to my oaf's foolishness once again?" The woman's shrill voice took on a motherly tone.

"It appears so Lady-Dowager." Her face scrunched.

"Lady-Dowager? My dear that is such a mouthful! I much prefer Lady as it makes me sound younger than I am." She said sweetly.

"Of course Lady Olenna." Randyll did not say it simpering, nor did he say it with scorn. He said it as a man would.

She smiled.

She started barking orders to one of the two men by her side, he pulled back one of the chairs and pushed it back in once the Lady-mother bent her behind.

"It's a tragedy how my stupid boy treats his bannermen. It's so very hard to find good help these days and you my dear Randyll have proven to be the most able bannerman serving my son. Never forget this, it's quite uncommon for me to say such things about a man." Olenna Tyrell nee Redwyne was more than the nagging shrill widow that many thought she was, Randyll knew that behind that façade was a sharp and shrewd mind that knew the game of thrones in and out. It was very unwise to cross her.

"You're still unwed yes? Weren't you betrothed to a Florent girl? I suppose that ugliness with that lecher Alester has made it difficult for you to find a proper wife?" Randyll could only nod his head, he felt as if she had delved into his thoughts, it perturbed him.

"Have you considered a wife outside the Reach?" What was she playing at?

"Not really." Randyll was careful in being as neutral as possible, if a daft codger like Alestor could besmirch his character in such a manner; than it would a trifle for the Queen of Thorns to condemn him into infamy.

"A Northern wife mayhaps? I hear Northern woman are ample in strength and robustness, perfect for a capable soldier such as you Lord Randyll?" A Northern wife? Well he had heard stories of how the blood of the First Men produced strong and resilient progeny. It was not an entirely unwelcome thought.

"On closer inspection that might be unfeasible, a Northern wife would barely survive here." Randyll had a feeling the Lady Redwyne was more focused on talking over him than talking to him. He didn't mind though; he never was the sort for pleasant conversation.

"Can you imagine a Northern maiden in one of our tourneys? The he scandals that would ensue." The Queen of Thorns tittered, no doubt conjuring in her a mind such a scenario.

"What of the Iron Isles?" An Ironborn wife? Was she japing?

"Wait, a bit daft isn't it? That's a terrible thought, my age must be addling my wits." Randyll might have wished for a strong wife, but an Ironborn wife was not to his liking. The Ironmen were thieves, undisciplined and totally lacking in moral values.

"What then a Dornish wife?" The Queen of Thrones was done with her little play, her wizened face now set into a serious mask. This was what she intended to talk about.

"A Dornish wife?" Randyll repeated her question with apprehension. The Tarly's were Marcher Lords; they were situated near the Dornish Marches. Their duties had been first and foremost the defense of the Reach against the ravages of the Dornish. The prospect of a Dornish wife, would not help in dispelling the foul stories around him. The thought of a wild Dornish wife who would sleep with any man if they were to her liking would also be problematic.

"Yes, the Dornish have become ever so distant since the war. The bitter battles between Reachman and Dornishman look far away when compared to the scars of the recent years." Randyll did not like how Olenna Tyrell spoke of Dorne, he felt like she was scheming something and that he was a mere pawn in her eyes.

"Forgive me Lady Olenna, but a Dornish wife does sound that appealing to mine ears." Randyll would respectfully decline her suggestion. This was a union he would not approve of. The bad blood between the Dornish and the Reach was too thick for him to ignore.

"Come now Randyll. I offer you the chance of marrying a beautiful girl, many men would kill for the hand of Ashara Dayne." Randyll's eyes widened at that name. The sister of the Sword of the Morning?

Was she mad?

The Daynes and the Tarlys have had an enmity that stretched back millennium. He would rather live being called a cannibal than marrying a damned Dayne.

"You speak folly. I've had ancestors who've fallen to Dayne swords." Randyll was starting to discard the courtesy he had accorded to Lady Olenna. What she was suggesting rankled more than any of Alestor's lies.

He was not her son, for her to coddle and nag.

He almost denied Robert's ambition. An old crone was nothing compared to that.

The Queen of Thorns on the other hand seemed to regard his little outburst with amusement.

"Don't be stubborn my dear Randyll. You are not the most handsome of men and yet I offer you the most beautiful women of Dorne as your wife. Not only that but she as a Dayne would mother many strong sons for you. Keep in mind you have ancestors who have no doubt fallen to Florent or even Tyrell blades as well. The past is dead, only bones and ruins remain of it." Randyll simply ground his teeth at her words, she knew what he wanted to hear.

"Still- "Lady Olenna brought down her cane onto the floor with great force. The loud sound reverberating across the council chamber.

"You have not even met her. Don't be so quick in your judgement Lord Tarly." Her voice was caustic now, with an acidic tang. The fact she stopped calling him Randyll clued him in that she was in no mood to talk.

He knew better than to continue.

* * *

Now he knew why Lady Olenna was so adamant in a marriage between Ashara Dayne and he. She was already here within Highgarden.

He spied her in the gardens, making pleasant talk with the Lady-wife of Mace.

Lady Olenna had suddenly changed topic and spoke of taking a walk in the gardens, asking him to accompany her. She did not offer him the chance to turn her down.

So this was her game then?

The wizened crone was pacing towards them, waving her cane all the while.

"Alerie! Lady Ashara! What a surprise to see you in the gardens!" The shrill widow spoke loudly in faux astonishment. The Lady of Highgarden regarded her with a pained expression whilst Ashara Dayne gave her a warm smile.

Randyll blinked as he saw her, the Dornish wench that Olenna Tyrell wished for him to marry.

He had thought the tales of her beauty were simple exaggerations.

They were not.

She had long dark hair that fell atop of bare white shoulders. She had soft ample lips, and a small aquiline nose.

And her eyes.

Her damned eyes.

Randyll couldn't help but stare at them.

They were like Valyrian eyes, otherworldly and mystical in their properties. They both disturbed and stupefied him.

"Lady Ashara may I introduce to you the Lord Randyll Tarly." She regarded him with a wary look, as if he were some sort of beast.

"A pleasure my lord." She spoke with apprehension and a bit of fear.

Lady Olenna had noticed it.

"What tales have you been poisoning her with?!" Lady Olenna lifted up her crane as if she were about to crack her good-daughter's skull with it.

"NOTHING! I SAID NOTHING GOOD-MOTHER!" Lady Alerie said whilst raising her arms.

"Please stay your hand my Lady! There is no fault in her part!" Ashara said in defense of Alerie Hightower.

The twin guards by Lady Olenna's side had gently grabbed her arms before she was able to do anything. She shook them off.

"Then why do you regard the good Lord Tarly with such a daft expression?" She said sordidly once more. Randyll couldn't make sense of the Queen of Thorns defending him.

"I-I … forgive me, on the journey here I had encountered many dark stories about the Lord Tarly. The fault is mine for mistaking it for truth." She apologized somberly, casting her gaze back at him.

"The smallfolk are all insipid gossips my dear. Worse than any maid, never take their word as truth. It is a pity that so many do not heed such sound advice. The poor Lord Tarly has been left suffering under such lies." Lady Olenna made a show of it as she spoke with grief and sadness. Almost on the edge of tears.

"I sure he does." Ashara regarded him with a smile.

It was beautiful truly, but something about it bothered him. It felt insincere and forced.

* * *

They had left abruptly, both Ladies of Highgarden. Olenna had spoken of important affairs that needed the attention of Alerie Hightower. So they left Tarly and Dayne by their lonesome. Watched over by one of Olenna's guards as to ensure nothing inappropriate happened.

He found himself walking besides her, the Dayne girl was quiet. She wanted to be free of his presence was what she screamed in her posture and actions.

"You don't like me much do you." That was more a statement than a question.

Ashara Dayne remained quiet, she stopped and stood before a rose bush. Bending down and smelling one of the flowers.

"Lady Olenna is not subtle at all isn't she?" She spoke with small, sad smile on her lips.

"That I agree. She can be a forceful harridan." At that Ashara Dayne giggled.

"Pray to the seven that she doesn't hear you say that my lord." Something about that smile emboldened him.

He had thought himself a strict, severe man with no time for such idleness; but it seems he was indeed just a man after all. No man, no matter how rough, could be so grim in front of a pretty girl.

"Pray indeed, I doubt Heartsbane would be sufficient to face an enraged Queen of Thorns." He noticed how her gaze seem to fall on his aforementioned Valyrian blade.

"Heartsbane. May I see it?" Randyll had no need to deny such a request. He grabbed the grip of the sword. Pulling in out from its scabbard, the sound it made as it left ringing like a songbird.

His practiced hands danced with it, a safe distance from the Lady Dayne of course.

She had a despondent expression as her eyes fell on the blade.

"It's beautiful." She spoke simply with melancholy deep in her voice.

"Like Dawn?" She scowled at the mention of her family's sword, she looked southeastwards, towards what he believed would have been where Dorne was.

"Your sword is nothing like Dawn." She spoke with venom, her back facing towards him. It seems the stories of the Dornish willfulness was true as well.

At least she wasn't timid.

"That is true. Dawn is a blade like no other." That was truth, Dawn was not a Valyrian blade but something else. She turned to face him, her face softened now.

"I'm sorry Lord Randyll, that was rude of me." She apologized.

He folded his arms in front of him, regarding her with a cool stare.

"Why are you here?" Randyll saw need to ask her such a question, it was obvious she much preferred to return back home.

"You know why Lord Randyll. It's the sameways why you're here and not in Horn Hill. Men and women both have the duties they must fill." She noted dismally.

"Let me wager a guess, you came here looking for a Tyrell husband." She nodded dejectedly at that.

"I have a suspicion the good Lady Olenna has informed you of an alternative match." She regarded him with a small quiet smile.

"I suppose the same to you?" She asked to which he nodded in affirmation.

"Tarly and Dayne. It's such a queer match don't you think? Mine forefathers and foremothers would no doubt curse me from beyond the Stranger's pall if I let such a thing happen." She took out one of the roses she had earlier been smelling, playing with it.

"The sameways mine own ancestors would spit on my foolishness for taking a Dornish wife." Randyll said bitterly.

"Still the Gods have their ways, as strange as they may seem to us poor folk on this earthly coil. Mayhaps such a union would come to pass no matter what we feel." She approached him, with rose in hand.

She offered it to him.

Randyll raised his brow.

"Place it on mine hair." She annoyingly instructed.

Randyll took it, using the edge next to the guard of Hearstbane to cut out the thorns. Then placed it gingerly near her ears.

"I'm impressed, I thought you'd directly put it in, thorns and all." Randyll snorted at her.

"I'm no fool you Dornish harlot." She snickered at that.

"I assure you Reachman my maidenhead is still in one piece." She said daftly, twirling around in the garden with the rose in her hair.

She was like a girl, prancing about like that, no care for what onlookers would think.

He had doubts she would be able to bear strong children, but he was confident any child born from her womb would have the same headstrongness.

"I heard tales from Lady Alerie about you. I had asked her what sort of man you were. You know what she said?" Randyll remained silent.

"She said you were the Reach's answer to Prince Stannis Baratheon." Randyll gave her a very ugly frown.

He had fought Stannis Baratheon, sieged him even. The man was among the stubbornest foes he had ever faced. An entire year and he couldn't even have him send a raven. Stannis Baratheon had humiliated him, just as his brother had.

For both men to be compared to one another? Such a thought only vexed him.

"Pardon?" He said with a growl.

"She said that you were a martinet, deprived of warmth and gentleness. She further said he were like a cold dead lamprey and always seemingly bitter." Randyll would have been enraged if he did not know those were the words Lady Alerie Hightower.

"Can you fault her for finding you so similar to the Bitter Stag?" Randyll ground his teeth.

"Never compare me to Stannis Baratheon." He said finally in a warning tone.

This only served to encourage her as she regarded him with a mischievous smirk.

"Why must I? You yourself call me a Dornish tramp. Why must I extend courtesy which was not offered to mineself?" Randyll sighed, he couldn't argue with the sense in her words.

"Fine,then both of us will not speak of stags or harlots." She gave her a childish grin.

"Thank you then Lord Randyll for not calling me a whore I suppose." She stuck out her tongue at him.

He smiled.

She looked on with surprise.

"You smiled." She said dumbly.

"Yes, I suppose I did." He couldn't help it; this girl was especially daft.

"Why are you smiling?" She asked curiously.

"Why need for such a question? Am I not entitled to smile then? "He responded severely.

"Stannis Baratheon never smiles." She clasped her hands on her lips as she realized she had already broken their promise.

The girl's expression was something he never expected to see on such a pretty face.

It was enough for him to uproariously laugh.

"H-Have you lost your mind Lord Tarly?" She screeched out indignantly as Randyll laughed at her.

"STOP LAUGHING YOU OAF!" She whined incredulously as she futilely hit him with her fists, it only served to make his revels even louder.

He was ever the serious man, never one to waste time on petty things. Always he focused on the ways of war, always he would with an undaunted face go into battle. He was bred for war, born to wage it as ruthlessly as possible. Such a vocation did not leave room for idleness,revelry and merrymaking.

Yet the war was over for now, peace was to be the new way of things. He would not stop preparing for the next war that would erupt within the realm. He would never stop.

But sometimes, enjoying life as it was, wasn't such a bad thing.

Ashara Dayne had reminded him of that.


	13. A Falling Star

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* * *

Highgarden was an extravagant place, nothing of it's like could be found in Dorne if one were to ignore Sunspear, seat of House Nymeros Martell. It had several tiers of walls that guarded her center, a briar labyrinth between one of them. It was ridiculous she thought of how much hidden groves, and courtyards there were; the gardens filled with abundant fruits and flowers whose number could be likened to the amount of gold and silver within the Westerlands.

The dining hall was large and spacious, enough to hold a small army if needed. The food that was served to them was utterly bewildering in their artisanship and make. She noticed how much of it was cooked in the Dornish style. Among the cauldrons of soups, plates of vegetables and the dazzling array of meat offered. None got her attention more than the roast of horse cooked with dragon peppers. She smiled with glee at how many of the Reach lords in attendance were aghast by the queerness of such a meal. Though the choice of horse was odd, the meat was cooked in the traditional Dornish way and was delicious in its spiciness.

It reminded her of home, and made her heart heavy with the knowledge she was many leagues away from it.

She liked it here at first; she liked how there was almost an endless torrential pour of knights, minstrels, mummers, acrobats and all sorts of colorful characters that she discovered by the day.

The Lords of Highgarden as well matched her visitors in their eccentricities.

Mance Tyrell was a mild and often dull man, who nonetheless was amusing in his antics. She remembered distinctly how the pot-bellied Lord bowed so deeply that his weight almost caused him to fall over. He tried so hard to be the affable and generous host. She thought it cruel for her to find such an oafish man laughable.

His mother however was a different case, always scowling with little patience for her son's actions. She had heard from Lady Alerie that she had become far thornier then usual after the Rebellion. She thought her son mad for giving Houses Hightower and Florent a mere slap on the wrist for their treason. Indeed, her scorn had spilled over to Mace's Lady-wife due to her former name being Alerie Hightower.

Their children were different, Willas was a shy lad and Galan a bit less so. The second son was a bit fatter than the rest of the children, but was also the boldest. He once tried to make off with her undergarments, during one her strolls with Lady Alerie in the gardens. Alerie had beaten his behind raw, but he was content because she had allowed the daring boy to keep her unmentionables because she was impressed by his audacity.

Willas was studious, most likely he would in a later time fashion himself a collar of chains within the Citadel. He had the sharpness of mind to be a Maester and Mace had enough sons.

Loras and Margery were too young for her to recall anything about, Loras had just celebrated his second nameday whilst Margery was about to celebrate her first. They were adorable the both of them in the scant times she had met them. Alerie often cooed over them.

Alerie was a dignified and refined woman. She had accepted long ago that she wasn't going to be the premier Lady of Highgarden until the death of Lady Olenna Tyrell. She did not seem to hold ill-will against her good mother. She knew her place.

The Tyrells were an interesting family.

Yet they were still Reachmen.

Their family and their bannermen had warred with Dorne for many years, across countless of generations. The blood spilled between them was deep, so why then was Prince Doran Martell so interested in them?

She had thought of her lord's plans ever since she received that letter at Starfall. Many of the other Dornish Houses, mostly the Stony Dornishmen were instructed by their Prince to find as many Reach wives and husbands as they could. Many of them found the request queer, but none found it suspicious excepting House Yronwood and even then they complied.

When she first arrived her searching for a Tyrell cousin as a husband, she knew after her conversation with Lady Olenna that she was collaborating with the Lord of Sunspear. Both wishing for the Reach and Dorne to strengthen their ties together.

She could only imagine just what sort of scheme they had.

Eating and enjoying her horse roast, she felt trepidation as she looked across the table towards a certain man.

He wore a grey steel breastplate; his arms and legs covered in mail and boiled leather, as if he were a mere soldier and not a high Lord; a great sword in a scabbard strung across his back, Heartsbane; his hair was ashen grey, cropped near his ears; his body lean and built like an auroch.

The lords seated beside him seemed to be quiet, in stark contrast to the bawdy singing of the others. They seemed cowed by the man's presence.

Randyll Tarly.

She had heard many ghastly things about him, even after their little dalliance in the gardens she couldn't stop her mind from recalling them.

The Cannibal of Horn Hill.

The Hill that Rides.

The Doom of Brightwater.

Fox Raper.

Those were simply the most common of the dozen epithets that had described his foul deeds during the Siege of Brightwater Keep. The washermaids and the stableboys would make mention of how enraged he was at the defiance of the brave Florents, how he would take smallfolk from the nearby villages and hurl them towards their walls just for pettiness sake. They spoke of how they raped mothers in front of children and children in front of mothers, feasting on their flesh after they had their fill.

She thought they were simply too outlandish to be true, mere hearsay and gossip. Yet Randyll Tarly remained an intimidating figure to the popular imagination, even the other bannermen of the Tyrell's were afraid of him.

Yet he smiled and guffawed like a regular man during their stroll through the gardens. He was able to survive the acidic tone of the Queen of Thorns, he seemed patient enough to take the rumors about him with stride.

She remembered the way he laughed, it wasn't a light-hearted joyous laugh. It was a cruel laugh, a laugh at her expense.

He laughed at her, no doubt thinking she was some sort of stupid little girl.

And in a manner of speaking, he was in the right to laugh.

She was a stupid little girl.

A stupid little girl who had made too many mistakes in her life.

* * *

She did not return to her bedchambers after the dinner. She had too much in her mind to feel the need for sleep. She instead found herself leaning over the railings of a balcony in one of the newer towers of Highgarden.

The castle was lit by a dozen torches, but she preferred to let the moon light shine upon them. She remembered a time like this.

A time long before the ugliness of the Usurper's Rebellion

Back in Harrenhal.

She frowned dismally as she thought back of that torrid affair, when Lord Whent arranged his enormous tourney. She still remembered the look of surprise on Elia's face as Prince Rhaegar passed their pavilion and crowned Lyanna Stark instead as his Queen of love and beauty.

She remembered it so vividly, like it was merely a day before. She remembered most especially those Stark boys.

She felt the tears streaming down her cheeks as they dripped onto the stone railing.

She was crying without her knowing. She tried to wipe it away, tried to banish the thoughts, but it was too late

Already she remembered the passing nine months, and how it ended with only heartbreak and despair. The only thing keeping her within this world was the return of her ruined brother.

Oh Arthur.

She wept madly as she saw the sorry state of her beloved brother. She had thought the man incapable of defeat, a smile constantly on his face. Ever since they were mere children, he was ever there to reassure her everything would be fine.

But nothing was fine. All of it had fallen into shit and misery.

Hearing Arthurs maddened screaming as the Maester went to work on treating the infection, seeing the look on his face when he had awaken and saw that the hand that once held Dawn and he had sworn to use to protect his King was missing.

Her heart had broken into a dozen pieces.

Eddard Stark.

Damn his soul to the Seven hells.

Now she was assaulted by the swords of memory and regret, they tore into her mind with the strength of the Warrior himself. She remembered all at once her time with sweet Elia, of the Stark boys, of the nine months that had passed, of Arthur and of the tragedy of Robert's Rebellion.

She felt her heart reeling from the sheer force of the pain and agony that was returning. All of her time mourning and weeping for the misfortune that had befallen upon her was coming back once more to haunt her, condensed into one single moment.

Unknowingly she found herself now standing atop of the railing, a rush of wind blowing pass her.

Why was she doing this?

She didn't know.

She enjoyed a final view of the moon shining on atop of her, she enjoyed seeing the twinkling stars blinking like jewels on top of the night's blanket for one last time.

She closed her eyes, and allowed the Gods to take her.

* * *

She heard footsteps and pain, she felt immense pain.

Something was enclosed around her waist in a tight grip, her breath was finding it difficult to leave her lungs. She opened her eyes; seeing the ground beneath her many yards below, a small gaggle of knights riding down pass. What would have happened if she had fallen on top one of them?

She heard heavy grunting, and a sharp pull as they both fell into the ground.

She remained stunned on the floor, her eyes falling on the person who had prevented her fall.

Randyll Tarly was glowering at her, Heartsbane lying on the ground several feet away.

"If you wish to kill yourself, then have the courtesy to do in within your own holdings." He barked out angered.

Why?

Why did he save her?

Why was he even here?

"Why?" She dully asked, the emotion drained from her.

"Why what? Speak sense you daft girl." He spat out with venom.

"You sound enraged, enraged that I was about to end my life. Why save me only to have naught but anger?" She spoke with an empty voice, even with her broken tears.

"Why would I not be angered by such a display? You bring dishonor to my Lord for killing yourself within the confines of his seat. The shame would be deplorable." Was that the reason? Not because she was going to kill herself? But because she was doing it within Highgarden?

The tears only continued even more.

"Who the fuck cares about dishonor!?" She lashed out with a heavy voice, she grabbed her shoulders, her beautiful black hair falling over her eyes and face. The wind that she once embraced now chilling her to the bone.

"You should have let me fall!" She screamed out with a strained voice.

"Why didn't you let me fall." She croaked out with wretched despair.

"Fall like a star." She whispered despondently.

She couldn't see him, the strands of her hair blocked her view.

"You are weak." He said contemptuously.

"A weak and pathetic girl." She felt her heart beat with a raging intensity.

" I am not weak." She said as she looked upwards to him, what little she saw of him revealed a grim and cold figure standing over her.

"Truly? Then you shivering on the floor is but a ruse I suppose?" He said scathingly.

"You have no inkling of the suffering I have lived through, the amount of pain that the Gods have punished me with." She whined out, the memories coming back.

"And you have no inkling of the suffering that I have been witness to. Your problems nothing to the battles I've lived through." She wanted to hit him, to show him her wroth.

"You know nothing of what it feels like to lose a child." She heard nothing but silence, it terrified her.

"You lied then, of your untouched maidenhead." His tone was disturbingly neutral as he spoke.

"Yes, indeed I am afraid to inform you that I truly am the harlot that you feared I was." She wretchedly smiled at him, hoping that he would now grant her the release she desperately craved for.

"We promised to not speak of whores and stags." His gloved hands parted the hair from her face. He held her cheeks, the touch of cold leather cooling her.

She tried to shift her head away, but he firmly held it in place. She eventually relented, fearful of what was about to happen.

He had a cursory and impassive look as his eyes stared into hers.

His eyes were a bright hazel, she never noticed such eyes. They were pretty eyes.

"What are you doing?" She asked now with a bit calmer, the conflicting emotions within her had lain still. Randyll Tarly's direct gaze had terrified them into silence.

"In the aftermath of battle, some men are struck with a momentary illness of the mind. The Maesters have no word for it. Men who are diseased in such a manner remain still; they do not respond to any sound or touch, their eyes simply gaze into air and they often are driven to kill themselves. I'm simply looking for such signs in you." She was getting calmer and calmer as he spoke. Randyll Tarly had a soothing voice when spoken softly.

"You think me a soldier?" She whispered out in amusement.

"The Dornish have queer customs do they not? They let their women act like men and their men act like women. So far I have seen nothing of this battle-madness within you. So why then you speak of suffering?" He let go of his hands, now he simply crouched. Their faces now directly in front one and another.

"There is a small voice in your head. In lives there like an unwelcome guest. It whispers to you that all you do is for naught, and everything you strive to do will end in mere failure. That everything you do will harm the ones you love, that you will fail them no matter how hard you tried." Her voice was hoarse, but she couldn't stop herself from talking.

"If the voice is small and you are not weak, then I see no reason why you cannot kill it with a blade." She never thought Randyll Tarly would say something so dumb.

"It isn't so simple." She murmured out.

"Therein lies the problem, only a weakling would say such a thing. This voice then, what does it say to you exact?" She wasn't going to tell him.

"You have no business in my affairs." The sound of a loud slap shook her from her daze.

She touched her raw cheek, utterly bewildered by what had just happened.

"The voice, tell me what does it say now." His voice remained utterly cool, no hint of emotion seeping outwards.

"I-It tells me I deserved that. That I deserve worse." She croaked out, her hand wavering as she felt the redness.

"Listen to mine voice. You are Ashara Dayne. You are a Dornish wench, wild and untamable in her passions. A Reachman has just slapped you most rudely within the cusp of great despair. What would your Dornish upbringing suggest in response? "She slapped him suddenly, his head turned.

He ran a finger down his reddening cheek, she felt no fear as he stared at her.

"What does the voice say now?" She gave him an unpleased frown.

"Fuck the voice. That hurt you cur." She spat with dripping venom.

"Truly? In my case I felt only a dainty smack." He said mildly.

"I do not understand; you fist speak of your Lord's honor, but now you act as if you actually care." It vexed her that he was being so inconsistent.

"Of course I care; you are to be mine wife." She felt numbness as he said that. Her face set with a shocked passiveness.

"What?" She asked plainly.

"I have changed mine mind. When Lady Olenna Tyrell first spoke of this match, I was against it; but seeing you in such a state. It is quite deplorable; I scarcely think there any man willing to suffer such a mercurial wife." He stood up retrieving Heartsbane.

She remained confused.

"You called me weak! You questioned my fidelity! W-Why on the name of the Seven do you suddenly find myself a worthy match!?" She staggered upwards clumsily, completely shaken by his declaration.

"When a man takes a wife, there is always the fear of adultery. In your case I feel I can enjoy the comfort of not fearing such a thing." What?

"Since you've already confessed to such a deed, I can rest easy knowing that I can undo you if I were to ever discover you giving me the horns." She couldn't believe this.

Blackmail, this was why he wished to marry her.

"You are despicable." She said stunned by such cruelty.

"That is alright, I do not need your love. Only know that this is for your sake as well as mine." She couldn't believe how brazen his words were.

"Mine sake?" She repeated incredulously.

"You know how I came across you here? This is where the Maester makes his quarters. I had to go to the rookery for a letter from Horn Hill. It was through whim that I saw you standing by your lonesome. If I hadn't we wouldn't be having this conversation." She ground her teeth.

"And that is my wish, I have no desire talking to you. A man who wants me his wife because he can control me. I refuse to let such a thing happen." Randyll Tarly had an amused look to him.

"You think I want to control you? I have no need for such a thing. All I wish is for your womb to give me a strong heir. That is all." She felt the tears returning once more.

"What say do I have then if I am to be the mother of your spawn?" She hated him, she had thought the tales were false, but now she saw why they quickly spread.

Randyll Tarly was a stone-hearted man.

His brow had raised slightly, regarding her with a queer look.

"You'll have as much say as you can? You are their mother. You think me daft that I refuse my wife to tend to her children? In part this is also why I feel you a suitable wife. You are caring." Caring?

"Caring?" She repeated.

"Of course. You said so yourself, that you fear hurting those you love. A mother who doesn't love her children is cursed." That sounded gentle, a surprise.

"What of the father?" His face was set impassively.

"He must care for his bloodline, for his House. For that I need a strong heir, love is not needed." So cold, so cruel.

"Love is needed." She spoke quietly

"Love is needed Lord Randyll. Without love a child is forsaken. Without love, husband and wife are nothing more than two strangers who share the same bed." Randyll snorted at that.

"I do not believe love is important as you say it is." She frowned.

"I will make you regret those words Lord Randyll." He narrowed his eyes, a smirk on his lips.

"Oh?" He asked curiously.

"Your heart Lord Randyll. I shall make it mine, and cut it deeper than your sword ever will." She declared boldly.

He had a look of surprise as she said those words. She herself was surprised she had spoken them.

He frowned.

"Do not make promises you cannot keep." He said with bile, to which she gave him an audacious grin.

"I do not intend to so Lord Randyll. You have dammed yourself for saving mine life, for such a misdeed you shall suffer my presence for as long as I live." That did it.

She felt an internal glee at how those words affected Lord Tarly. Now she knew why she said them.

He shifted uncomfortably, diverting his gaze like a flustered squire. He ground his teeth and held his arms in front of him.

She was going to avenge herself, to have vengeance on the man who kept her here in this cold world.

Her life was to be forfeit, he had taken that away from her. For that he needed to suffer, no longer would she care about her own suffering.

She was going to hurt him, using a blade far more sharper and more crueler than Heartsbane or even Dawn.

A sword called Love.


	14. A Griffin!

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* * *

He stared at the pieces of armor that were resting on the stand. On a mere glance it looked to be painted black, but when torchlight was shined on it from within a certain angle, one would easily see that it was in fact tinted with a dark red hue.

The cuirass had two griffins etched upon it, one in silver and the other in ruby red tinted steel. They stood combatant and countercharged, dominating the breastplate.

He shifted his gaze towards the cauldrons, it was covered by gardbraces with the faces of eagles masterfully crafted on them; the rondels were griffins in flight, chasing their tail; the vambraces had spiraling patterns that cascading towards the gauntlets whose knuckles were sharpened into talons.

In contract, the lower parts of the armor; the cuisse, the sabatons and the greaves were plain in comparison. They lacked the tinted color of the upper torso; dyed simply in dull black, hinting that they were in fact mere replacements.

The helm was of course fashioned into a snarling griffin head, a long narrow slit where the eyes would be.

This armor was not his.

It belonged to his foolish cousin, Jon Connington, who had damned their line to obscurity and misery when he declared for the Targaryen's instead of his direct liege lord the Baratheons. This armor had been commissioned for him by Rhaegar himself hence all of its finery. He did not know what happened to the rest of it, mayhaps it was somewhere in Essos worn by a raider or gathering dust in some merchant's wares, pried from the long desiccated corpse of Jon Connington.

This armor bore a dark stain on his family line.

The blood of fellow Stormlords had been spilled on its metal.

The scratches of their blades still visible even after efforts to refurbish it.

Ronald Connington could only manage a sigh. He once remembered utterly despising looking upon this armor; feeling only but contempt for its previous owner.

Now however he wasn't so sure.

It was queer he thought that serving under Lord Stannis would have made him sympathize with his exiled kinsman.

He remembered when he encountered Lord Stannis himself as he left Griffin's Roost with his family, he remembered Stannis saying his house shouldn't be punished for being loyal to the crown.

Funny, the more he thought the more he felt it was Jon who saved them.

Griffinmont was a poor seat, less of a keep and more of a glorified tower. Its riches were dismal, it's smallfolk almost nonexistent. It was a desolate and empty place.

But it was theirs, it's infertile soil was Connington soil.

Stannis Baratheon had saved them, saved them from a life of petty bigandry and hedge knighting, for that he had earned their undying loyalty.

So hence why he endeavored to win the grand melee, Lord Stannis had been injured during the joust and so was unable to participate. He would dedicate his victory to him, and to his betrothed.

He smiled as he thought of Cersei Lannister. He didn't know why, but he had this intuition that he was the only one within Dragonstone who was aware Cersei Lannister was head over heels in love with the Lord of Dragonstone. He didn't know exactly why; the best explanation he could find was of his own experiences.

His father was brother to the Lord of Griffin's Roost and hence the pressures of an arranged betrothal that affected most lords weren't placed upon him; meaning playing matchmaker for himself, which was a relief.

His wife was daring and a little fierce, a cousin to the main line of House Bracken. The circumstances of their meeting was queer, he was riding atop a stallion and she atop a mare. Her steed was in heat, and hence his stallion went wild.

It was a painful first meeting it was.

She never hid the fact she thought him an oaf. Even after she discovered his noble blood she continued lambasting his wits.

He thought it amusing, for she was a mere girl of nine whilst he was a lad of three and one. He was sent to Stone Hedge as a squire, hence they had found themselves almost seeing each other every day.

She was always biting, always angry, he only knew later on just why she was so temperamental.

She was a daughter of a Bracken husband and a Blackwood wife. The Houses Blackwood and Bracken had a blood feud that stretched millennia, her parents had married without the consent of both houses hence why she was seen as a pariah.

When he discovered this he felt pity, but did not show it as he wanted to. She was prideful, much like Lady Cersei was. He treated her the sameways he treated everyone else.

He didn't know why but that endeared him to her, he remembered a tourney, less than the one of Harrenhal and more of the like of Lady Cersei's nameday. A knight of House Bracken had insulted her grievously, she was enraged. She gave her his favor, telling him that if he didn't unhorse the brute 'she would never forgive him'." Not only did he unhorse the knight, but he also won the tourney and crowned her his Queen of love and beauty.

The look of embarrassment on her face was something he would never forget. After that they grew closer and closer, until one day he found her on his bed. He did not sully her of course, no matter how much she pleaded.

It was then he had proposed to her father that he wished for her hand.

Her smile that day was very much like the smile Lady Cersei made when she was crowned.

Lady Cersei Baratheon loved Lord Stannis Baratheon, it was obvious to his own eyes.

The problem was if Lord Stannis Baratheon reciprocated such a thing.

He frowned.

He could never fathom just what the Lord felt, he was always withdrawn, at an arm's length away. The only one who knew much of the Lord was Ser Davos and Maester Cressen.

The same intuition that told him of Lady Cersei's true feelings could not get a handle on Lord Stannis. It was obvious he resented his brothers, and that he had the fury so common of his blood, but more than that no one truly knew.

It mattered not.

Stannis Baratheon was his liege.

It was his duty to serve.

Around six dozen knights were preparing now. The number was surprisingly larger than that of the joust, apparently Lord Ardrian Celtigar had wished for the melee to be an even more spectacular event which was quite uncommon. The Lord had declared he would personally gift a treasure from his coffers to the winner of it, something more valuable than gold. The jousting field had been converted into a small arena in which they would begin the melee. The rules in place were a different from a norm.

In commemoration of the future wedding of Lady Cersei Lannister and Lord Stannis Baratheon, knights who hailed from the Westerlands and the Stormlands would have two separate bouts wherein other knights would be evenly distributed in both, the final victors of each would proceed into an one and one affair. The intention was for a Stormlands knight and a Westerlands knight to face off against one another in the name of Lord Stannis Baratheon and Lady Cersei Lannister.

Fortunately, the new arrivals were knights from the Westerlands who had just arrived to celebrate their Lady's nameday; sadly, Lord Tywin Lannister nor Lady Cersei's immediate family were among those who came, except for one.

He was relived in honesty; for if Lord Tywin did attend then no doubt The Mountain that Rides would have been by his side as well.

And facing the Mountain in a melee was something few men wished for.

Many of the Westerlands knights that did attend did not seem to be particularly skilled fighters.

Not including of course the only other Lannister who was in attendance.

Ser Tygett Lannister, uncle to the Lady Cersei. He was strong, fast and big. He heard talk that it was Ser Tygett that Ser Jaime looked after when it came to fighting. Which meant fighting Ser Tygett was like fighting a knight of the Kingsguard.

If he was a betting man, he would have wagered him the winner of the Westerlands melee.

But now was the time for his own fight, and looking back at the armor.

He had the strangest idea.

"Ronnet." He did not see his eldest son as he entered the tent, but he knew just by the sounds of his footsteps that it was him.

"Yes father?" Ronnet was not timid as most said he was, indeed he had the fierceness of his mother in his blood; the problem was that Dragonstone was so deprived of children his age, usually the sons of Davos Seaworth were his playmates. Now with Lord Gerold his son was growing bolder and bolder, much like how his cousin was.

He noticed how he fancied that Banefort girl, his son thought he was clever enough to pull the wool over his father's eyes. Still he saw no need to put a stop to it.

"Help me put on this armor." His back remained turned to him, but the sound of his shifting meant he was put off balance by his words.

"Isn't that Uncle Jon's armor?" He inquired with apprehension, the boy grew up hearing stories of his fallen uncle. How he had brought shame to their house.

"Yes it was, but now it's simply just another suit of armor, the finest our House owns. The melee is about to start, and I wish to use all that is available to ensure a Connington victory." He heard his boy mumble something out, probably feeble protests.

He did not fault the boy for this, there would be many lords who would raise a brow at the choice of armor.

But that was irreverent.

Only victory mattered.

* * *

It was a loose fit; Jon had been a bit leaner than he was, but it did fulfill its purpose. It would not hinder him much during the melee.

A very good thing for him.

He felt the blade bouncing off his cuisse, the blow might have left a painful bruise on his thigh, but it would not be crippling.

It was only courteous for him to respond in kind.

He lashed out suddenly with his mace, striking the hedge knight on the helm with it. The man instantly crumpled to the ground, unsure if he were still breathing or dead.

It didn't matter.

There were two more men going after him.

The melee had degenerated into utter chaos, when it first began the knights all stood in a single straight line. Now it was a mere pit of mud, blood and shit. He felt a smile on his face as he felt his heart beating in increasing tempo.

The call of battle was intoxicating, even if it was simple play fighting.

He easily battered away his foes, his eyes flooded with red. He couldn't even make out the exact details of what his foes were wearing.

Crests? Sigils?

Who the fuck cares?

They were all weaklings to be crushed by his wroth.

This feeling of invincibility waned when he faced off against a more dangerous opponent. He saw his mace lodged deeply into an oak round shield.

He cursed as he saw the knight wretched his mace away and engaged him with his blade.

He saw the crest that was on his helm, a salmon's tail.

Oh shit.

"Tis Jon Connington reborn! You almost killed me during the Battle of the Bells! I suppose now's the time I visit my grievance upon thee!" Myles Mooton bombastically said as he hammered him away with his bastard sword.

The Salmon Knight never relented in his strikes, his sense of timing was impeccable for as soon as he was ready to attack with his shield we would resume his attacks.

Thankfully he wasn't looking where he was moving.

The Salmon Knight was a dangerous warrior; but the problem with dangerous warriors, especially those as young as Ser Myles Mooton, is that they often seldom note their footwork. It was a common mistake, he himself was guilty of falling victim to it.

He was subtle, deflecting the man's blows, whilst changing where he was retreating. The Salmon Knight was utterly focused in breaking his guard that he had tripped over the prone body of the hedge knight whose head he had smashed his mace into.

When the Salmon knight managed to regain his bearings, he had managed to retrieve his mace, holding it just above his head.

The man's creative cursing was amusing to hear.

"I yield" He croaked out timidly.

After his departure, there were three left within the field.

Ser Brus Buckler, wearing a dull grey utilitarian armor compared to his, a surcoat emblazoned with three brass knuckles on blue resting over it.

The other was Ser Richard Morrigen, the man was a lousy jouster as he was eliminated in his first tilt, but he was one hell of a fighter. He wore plate colored in dull green, throughout the entire surface there were etchings of black raven feathers. The crest of his helm was in the shape of a raven's head.

Both men were of the Stormlands, so no matter who would win, it would still be a victory for Lord Stannis Baratheon.

Though this did not mean he would submit so easily.

They stood far from each other, staring and catching their breaths.

This bothered him.

He raised his mace above his head, the two other knights regarding him with wariness whilst the crowd watching were also curious of his intentions.

He then brought it down, striking his kite shield hard.

He did it once more, this time bellowing.

"A griffin! A griffin!" He noticed Ser Davos on the pavilion by Lord Stannis' side. He was holding the bridge of his nose, fighting the urge to laugh out.

Lord Stannis meanwhile closed his eyes, and looked as if he was sighing.

His boy Ronnet just cringed, utterly embarrassed by his father's antics. Lord Gerold Dayne groaned out, no doubt reminded of their grueling morning spars.

Everyone else just looked at him as if he had lost his mind.

"A griffin! A griffin!" He repeated the war cry of House Connington, in a bid to move his opponents into action and to break this farce of a stalemate.

It worked.

Both men nodded to one another in silent agreement.

They charged in unison, weapons raised. Most likely they thought a temporary alliance would be needed against him.

Ronald Connington smiled under his visor.

"A GRIFFIN! A GRIFFIN!" He snarled out like some creature beyond the wall. Screaming madly as he faced their charge head on.

* * *

He had won, if barely.

Ser Richard Morrigen was brought low with just a single strike of his mace, Ser Brus Buckler however was a more tenacious foe. He had to repeatedly hammer the stubborn mule until he finally relented.

Now was the Westerlands bout, and already he noticed the two men who would dominate it.

Tygett Lannister carried a greatsword which he used to great effect, and unlike Ser Myles Mooton, he knew where to move. It was intimidating to see the Lannister knight in action, he was aggressive in his strikes; but was surprisingly able in defending himself with the unwieldy blade. He did not feel confident he would prevail if he were to face him.

Indeed, he had easily bested Ser Denys Arryn. Though to the Falcon Knight's credit, he was no doubt tired from facing off the countless knights who had aimed for him during the fighting's start. Ronald blamed the knight's ostentatious armor for attracting so much gnats, even the Lannister's glamorous armor paled in comparison to its gaudiness.

The other however fought differently.

Ser Ilyn Payne was a sinister figure in battle, he used a wicked looking broadsword which he was deadly precise with. Already he noticed that two of his earlier foes were either dead or crippled for life. He never once focused on defense, completely focusing on the attack, which suited him.

Quickly soon it was apparent they would be the last ones standing. Most of the knights wary to lay a finger on the brother of Lord Tywin Lannister, or to face the mute Payne knight.

They focused in one another, both nodding silently, as if they were acknowledging their prowess.

Ser Tygett Lannister wore something that he thought made his own armor look like a hedge knight's. It glittered under the sun, its gardbraces shaped like lions faces. He wore a long flowing surcoat colored in deep red and with the golden lion stitched on the front. His helm was shaped into a lion roaring, his golden hair dropping near the neck.

Ser Ilyn Payne looked less than a hedge knight, looking more like a sellsword. He only wore half-plate, the rest of him covered in ring mail draped over leather. He wore a mere skullcap that showed his gaunt face. All of it colored in black.

It added to his fearsome presence.

Ser Illyn did not hesitate in his strikes, he did not care he was fighting his liege lord. Ser Tygett was of a similar mind, both men fought with skill. They did not attack wildly like the knights that he faced. They acted aggressively to be sure, but not without mind.

There was a purpose to their dance.

A dance Tygett Lannister seemed to be winning. Ser Ilyn Payne was older than he was, though evenly matched; Tygett had more vigor and all it took was one minor slip up.

Ser Ilyn's eyes widened as he saw the blade hovering just scant inches from underneath his armpit. Ronald didn't know why, but he felt there was a smile growing under Ser Tygett's helm.

Ser Ilyn Payne allowed his sword arm to drop, kneeling before the Lannister knight.

There were maddened cheers among the crowd, Ser Tygett in particular waved a hand towards his niece.

She gave him a small smile.

* * *

He was nervous. Ronnet had been anxious for his father's health during the preparatory break for the final melee. He had to mollify his son's owns fears when he had not done so for his own.

Ser Tygett was a knight of considerable prowess. Ser Ilyn Payne was a knight he considered his superior when it came to melee combat, what more than the man who bested him so easily?

He felt the gazes of every onlookers as they stared at them both as they quietly circled each other.

"I was surprised when I saw someone fighting with Jon Connington's armor. I suppose the Lord of Dragonstone had saved the Conningtons from their exile." Ser Tygett had a booming voice that just oozed authority. It was a voice of a Lord and not a mere knight.

"Lord Stannis can be quite the merciful man." Ronald Connington responded.

"You are skilled Connington, you fight like a half-lion. Though considering your sigil, I suppose that might be the actual case." Ser Tygett japed? The stories he heard had mentioned Ser Tygett as an angry and brooding figure. Not one for japing.

"But that is not simply enough." Now it was coming!

Ronald cursed, this man was a terrible knight to be fighting against.

He felt his arm already buckling from the swords impact on his shield, there was no doubt it bruised. Almost immediately afterward Ser Tygett shifted his sword, bring it down towards his thigh.

But Ser Ronald Connington was not that unskilled a knight.

He brought his shield towards his thigh, managing to block the blow, but falling to the ground from the sheer blow of it.

"I'm impressed, I have half the mind to think I'm fighting Jon Connington himself." He said whilst Ronald clambered back up.

'He isn't taking me seriously.' He noted silently at how the Lannister knight impassively stared.

That would be his greatest mistake.

He threw his mace at him, earning a cry of surprise from the Lannister knight who sidestepped to avoid it.

He heard audible cursing as Ronald Connington charged him down.

Both men fell into the mud, Ronald Connington mounted him as he batted his greatsword away with his shield.

Ser Tygett struggled for a while before stopping. He had expected the man to bellow out in anger. Instead he laughed.

"Bugger me how anticlimactic! Not very knightly at all! I'm impressed by your willingness to win Ser Connington." The elated Lannister knight said as he raised his hands in surrender.

"To your credit Ser Tygett. If you had taken this seriously I would most likely be the one prone on the floor." Ser Ronald helped the Lannister knight upwards. All to the screams of a cheering crowd.

"Nonsense Ser Connington. You have proven yourself an able knight. Try to keep that in mind." Praise from a Lannister? That was new.

"To your champion!" Ser Tygett grabbed his arm and raised it up high.

To hear the adoration of the crowd, both smallfolk and nobles. He couldn't deny it was a nice feeling.

* * *

When he heard that Lord Ardrian was offering something more valuable than gold, he did not expect it was going to be this impressive.

Even as he knelt, he saw how fearsome a thing it was.

"Where did you ever get such a prize?" Lady Cersei asked curiously of the warhammer.

It was a warhammer whose like was unseen in Westeros.

It's shaft was made of black steel; its head of dragonbone, shaped into a punching fist; the grips covered with leather made from an unknown creature.

"It was a gift. Even I do not know who had crafted it. All I know is that it originated from Volantis." Lord Ardrian carried the hammer as if it were a simple stick, presenting it to the kneeling Ronald.

Ronald Connington bowed his head as Ser Ardrian placed it on his outstretched hands.

It was surprisingly light, too light for what a warhammer should weigh as. The dragonbone would have explained its lightness; the material was strong as steel but weighed half as much.

Ser Ronald Connington immediately presented it to Lord Stannis Baratheon.

All eyes were raised.

"What is the meaning of this?" Ser Ardrian asked annoyingly.

"This victory I dedicate to Lord Stannis Baratheon. " Ser Ronald Connington said simply.

"I see no reason why you should. I was not the one who defeated Ser Tygett Lannister."

"I insist my lord." Ser Connington repeated as he looked into his Lord's eyes.

They were all currently within the main pavilion; the many lords, knights and ladies bearing witness to his award ceremony. They were surprised just as well.

"Why?" Before he could speak, Lady Cersei moved by his side.

"Mayhaps he feels this pays his debt towards you my Lord Stannis?" The Lannister maiden of nineteen namedays said almost exactly what he was about to say. Ser Ronald Connington couldn't help but smile.

"Debt?" Lord Stannis said wary.

"You saved House Connington from exile, even if your brother had decreed it legal. So gifting this to you is his family's way of paying that debt." Stannis regarded her with a neutral face. A face she shared as well.

They looked more and more the married couple.

"Fine." He finally said, using both hands to take the weapon from Ser Ronald Connington.

"Name." Stannis said suddenly, much to their confusion.

"Name my lord?" Ser Connington asked in confusion.

"The name of this weapon? Do you expect me to just call it warhammer?" Ser Ronald frowned slightly, he was bad with names. It was his wife who named their children, and it was his son who named their new seat.

"Griffin's Gift?" He cursed internally, that was a stupid name.

"Griffin's Gift. A fine name." He was utterly surprised by how Lord Stannis seemed to be taken by the name.

Lord Stannis felt the hammer in his hand, judging it's weight and it's power.

Ronald Connington was glad.

With this House Connington had redeemed themselves.


	15. A Loving Lioness

**Note: 90% books, 10% show  
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 **Disclaimer: A Song of Ice and Fire is owned by G.R.R Martin. This is a strict non-profit venture.**

* * *

The Tourney of Claw Isle, that was what they called it. It did not garner the fanfare that Harrenhal or the Tourney of Lannisport received. It did not bother her if she was to be honest, it would remain a tourney that she would never forget and she would always treasure close to her heart.

Ser Nameless, a poor but tenacious jouster who bested one of the most formidable knights of The Riverlands for the chance of crowning Lady Cersei Lannister his queen of love and beauty; revealing himself as Stannis Baratheon, estranged brother of the King and heir-apparent to the Iron Throne.

Before he removed that helm, she had thought her love for Stannis was just a simple fancy. That it was merely her heart trying to find someone to indulge her woes in; but, when Stannis Baratheon crowned her with that wreath of red roses.

She finally understood that her love for Stannis Baratheon was something that would last long past the throes of even death. All of her doubts about him, all of her fears, all of her contempt for him. It all disappeared like waves crashing upon the shore.

Ever since they returned to Dragonstone her spirits remained high, she never could stop smiling when thinking back to that moment. No matter how much she tried to hide behind the façade of the arrogant lioness.

It also made her even more afraid.

Now she was uncertain what would happen if she were to ever reunite with Jaime, her heart would throb in maddened fear at the thought of such a meeting. She couldn't imagine just what she would say, what would she do.

She remembered that she was the reason Jaime was a Kingsguard. She remembered all the times that they eloped.

She was afraid of what Jaime would do now that she loved someone else.

She was afraid of what Stannis would do if he discovered that her maidenhead had been broken by her own brother.

Thinking about it was a constant on her mind, because very soon there would come a time when she would need to deal with it.

She was not foolish enough to think she would be able to hide it for long. She wanted to think she was clever enough, but her time with Stannis had sobered her up. She wasn't going to be able obfuscate this from them both.

What ever would she do?

She was disgusting, a filthy whore and even worse; she was a practitioner of unholy incest.

What would Stannis do if he ever knew? What would good, honorable Stannis Baratheon do if he were to know that his betrothed was a promiscuous harlot?

She was thinking those very thought lying back on her bedding. She stared into the darkened ceiling, her green eyes shining dimly with tears.

"I'm not worthy of him." She whispered despairingly to herself.

"He would forsake me, and I would not fault him for it." She croaked out with self-loathing scorn.

Stannis Baratheon had made her feel something that had been alien to her for such a long time. It was a feeling that she had rarely ever suffered from.

Guilt.

She felt guilty.

She felt guilt for what she had done in the past, she felt shame for what she had done with Jaime, even if she had loved him. She felt all these wretched thoughts playing havoc in her mind and couldn't fathom why.

Why only now?

Why after so many years?

Why Stannis Baratheon?

She bit her lip hard, an ugly lump stuck within her throat. She found it so very hard to breath now, she thought back to all the times she was with Jaime.

Jaime was dashing, he was handsome and kind.

What did Stannis have?

Stannis was dull, blunt and boorish. His touch was cold and stone like, his face an impassive statue. Stannis was a man who took little comfort in anything, who didn't waste his time on frivolities.

So why then did he waste it on her?

She thought back to her summer years, when she was a mere girl.

She remembered the things that she had done.

Melara.

"No,no,no,no,no,no." She grabbed her temples, scrunched her eyes tightly shut. She repeated that word over and over, as if it were a prayer to the Seven.

"She deserved it!" There was so much pain, a stabbing sensation scourged her mind. The memories of the past returned, forcing themselves on her like some ravager.

She couldn't remember her face.

She couldn't remember the face of Melara Hetherspoon.

All she remembered was that she died that night, after they had spoken to that horrible frog woman.

She drowned and it was all her fault.

"It had to be done! It had to be done! She was after Jaime! She was after Jaime!" She whimpered to herself in a desperate bid to absolve her sin. She did not regret what she had done that day.

It was bold.

It was necessary.

If she had spoken of the prophecies, they would have come true!

"Wasn't my fault! Wasn't my fault!" She felt like she had gone mad; mad from the guilt, the regret and the self-loathing.

She was lying to herself.

She grabbed her golden locks as she quietly wept, her mucus clogging her nostrils; the phlegm in her throat turned quiet cries into demonic sounding yelping.

What she had done was unforgivable.

What she had done would have been punished by death if Stannis knew of them.

She didn't deserve him.

Stannis Baratheon deserved a wife who would love him with all her heart, one pure in heart and in mind.

He deserved such a wife.

Not some Westerlands whore and murderer.

She grabbed her knees, like a babe leaving her mother's womb.

She stared to the side, seeing only darkness and flickering shadow.

She was afraid of the old woman's prophecy; she had done everything in her power to prevent its passing.

But now she was starting to think it differently.

Maybe if it were come to pass.

Maybe if she fulfilled her destiny.

Then Stannis Baratheon would forgive her.

She then remembered at that moment the words Ser Davos told her. Those words Stannis was ever so fond of repeating.

"Good acts do not wash away the bad, bad acts do not sully the good." Those words resonated within her, soothing her troubled mind.

They promised her something she didn't know she wanted.

Redemption.

* * *

Dragonstone seemed livelier than she remembered, it remained dark and foreboding; but the atmosphere had taken a turn for the better. The Tourney of Claw Isle had uplifted the spirits of many.

Melessa Crakehall had been courted by the Salmon Knight, with the prospect of marriage looming in her future. The normally stoic girl was livid with excitement, she had fallen for the man's charms and his kindness.

A year ago she would have been surprised that a handsome man such as Ser Myles Mooton would have fallen for such a plain girl; but now she saw the kindness and willfulness in Melessa. She was courteous, compassionate and never one to gossip. A good wife for any man.

Nerissa Banefort was also excited for she had been betrothed to Ronnet Connington. Her father received word of Ser Ronald Connington beating her uncle in the tourney; humbly asking if the Griffin Knight would allow his daughter to be his heir's wife. Ser Ronald answered most enthusiastically. They were cute together, Ronnet was a sweet lad who seemed to be unmindful of Nerissa's particular habits. Nerissa also discovered she was able to allow Ronnet to see her face and not feel any sort of anxiety, a good development.

Leonella Lefford was probably the only one among them who returned with only disappointment, Criston Celtigar is seemed had not fallen for the girl's charms. She recalled her gushing about how romantic Lord Stannis had been, and how she wished for that crown.

She once hated the girl, but now she felt only pity. She would endeavor to find the girl a good husband by the time of her own marriage.

Shierle Swyft, the clever girl it seemed was not clever enough. She was infatuated with the Darkstar boy, a dangerous game for her to play. The Dornish often let passion run them rather than their wits, if she were not careful she would have her heart broken.

The handmaiden had been adamant in denying any sort of feelings for the Dornish squire, but Cersei was no simpleton. She saw the way her eyes looked at him so longingly, how their arguments started getting raunchier as time passed.

It was a familiar sight, the way she constantly denied any sort of affection for him. Shierle Swyft reminded her of herself when it concerned Stannis Baratheon.

It annoyed her how stupid she was being, how she was no better than her own handmaidens.

She was no fair maid, not anymore.

"Cersei?" She blinked, staring at the chiseled features of her uncle.

Tygett Lannister was less angrier now. He always scowled, she remembered. Yet even when broody he had shown more affection to Tywin's children more than the man himself.

He was smiling, she had never recalled such a thing.

Uncle Tygett had wavy golden hair likened to a great mane. His calloused face was lined with many scars, a jagged one crisscrossing over his right eye; but they did not mar his handsome features. He looked lovelier with that daring smile.

They were out having pleasant conversation on one of the balconies, looking over the waters of Blackwater Bay. There was no wind surprisingly enough, especially now that summer was ending and autumn would soon come. It was early in the morn, before the sun was rising.

She had a terrible sleep, whilst her uncle had been drinking the night before.

"Uncle, why are you in such high spirits?" She asked with her own tired smile, a bit glad Uncle Tygett had learned how to be happy.

"You answer my question with a question? Fine, if you must know your father has finally acknowledged me." His smile wavered for just a moment at the mention of Lord Tywin Lannister.

"How so?" She knew of the tumultuous relationship between Tygett and Tywin. How Tygett felt that he could not match the skills and power of his elder brother, how his constant attempts of doing so only made his inferiority all the more evident.

She understood his displeasure.

All Lannisters trembled before her father's shadow.

"I have been made Lord of Castamere." He said with a leonine grin.

"What?" She couldn't believe it; her father had mentioned that he would never grant the Lordship of Castamere to anyone for as long as he lived. The Reynes and the Tarbecks had earned the undying hatred of Lord Tywin Lannister. He left their holdings ruined husks as a warning to those who defied him.

"When did this happen?" She asked before he was able to answer to her first question.

"Since he returned to Casterly Rock." What?

"When did he return?" She said with a lowered voice. Was this why he was not here? Her father had been made Master of Coin within the King's council; back then she couldn't believe the gall King Robert had in doing so for her father had served as the Hand of the King before the Stag King's own reign. She thought her father was scheming something, her own marriage to Stannis Baratheon played a part in it. A scheme that according to her father was unraveling in an unexpected pace. Of course he would retire back to Casterly Rock.

"He didn't tell you?" Tygett said with his characteristic anger now returned in his voice, among the many quarrels Uncle Tygett had with her father was how he raised his children.

"It's alright." She spoke solemnly.

She then heard a loud thud as Tygett's bare fist struck the stone railing. The skin on his knuckles broke and bled.

Uncle Tygett ground his teeth, one wouldn't believe he had been smiling just moments before with such a furious look in his emerald eyes.

"I can't believe him! Twas his own daughters nameday!" Cersei couldn't help but smile sadly at how enraged her uncle was, more so than she was capable of. It felt nice to have someone get angry in her stead.

She held his injured hand, rubbing it softly. Her glowering uncle calmed slightly at her soft touch.

She smiled sweetly.

"Do not be angered for mine sake uncle. This nameday was none like the others before." She said truthfully, no intention of hiding her giddy joy.

Her uncle was quick to understand, he gave her a glib smile.

"So it seems my brother was not entirely foolish in arranging this betrothal." Her cheeks flustered at his tawdry tone.

"I wonder what Jaime would say of this." At that she frowned.

Uncle Tygett didn't know, so few did. All they knew was that Jaime and Cersei were close.

She couldn't admit it, but she still loved her brother. He was after all her only solace living with Tywin and the bast-

Her heart ached.

She tried thinking of her youngest brother.

Tyrian the Imp, the ugly dwarf who was supposed to kill her by the words of prophecy.

She felt trepidation as she realized the hate she had for him, was no longer as strong as it once was.

"Uncle." She successfully cleansed herself of such dark thoughts, remembering why she had brought him here.

"Lord Stannis' wishes to speak with you within the solar." She relayed his message to him.

* * *

A fresh sea breeze passed through the widow still. All of them were quietly breaking fast with one another.

Lord Stannis and Ser Davos seated on the other side, whilst she and Uncle Tygett sat opposite to them.

They were served with sausage covered in mustard along with poached quail eggs.

Once they were finished did they begin their council in earnest.

"When are you going to return back to your holdings Lord Tygett?" It seemed Stannis had known of the news before she did.

"In three days mayhaps? I intend to spend some time with my niece." Uncle Tygett gave her a smile. At least one Lannister seemed interested in her welfare.

"If that is your intent, then have no fear. Your niece and I intend to accompany you back to the Westerlands." Both Lannisters widened their eyes at this proclamation, Lord Stannis and Ser Davos remained neutral. Ser Davos regarded her with a tired look, signaling that he himself had argued with Stannis over this.

"For what purpose?" Lord Tygett now asked with caution.

"Lord Paramount Tywin Lannister is to be a potential good father of mine; I feel it prudent if I met with him at least once before I finalize any decision and I suppose the Lady Lannister and her retinue wish to return back home, if only briefly." There was more to what he was saying, he was hiding something.

"Is that all?" Uncle Tygett continued his line of questioning.

He remained quiet.

"Lord Tywin had failed to appear on his daughter's nameday. I wish to know why, in person." She blinked, her ears heating and her tongue tied in knots.

Was he an idiot?!

Ser turned Lord Tygett laughed. A great booming sound that made all present wince at its volume.

"I applaud your audacity! I can only imagine such a conversation!" He wiped away elated tears.

Cersei just blushed, uncomfortable that this journey involved her in some part. She already had sufficient reason to love Stannis, she did not want for any more least her heart aches even more.

She took some time explaining the situation concerning her father's resignation as Master of Coin. She was confused as to how he knew of her uncle's new station but not of Lord Tywin's lack of presence.

"He left for Casterly Rock just a day after the tourney started." That elicited surprised from both Lannisters.

Cersei's heart felt heavy, she was used to her father's occasionally cold bouts; but this still hurt her greatly.

"I simply cannot understand it! How can the Warden of the West not attend his daughter's name day!? It would cost him the prestigious that he craves for like a dog!" Uncle Tygett smashed his hand on the oaken table, almost breaking the rickety furniture with just a single blow.

"That is what I intend to ask." Stannis said simply, unmindful of uncle Tygett's outburst.

She couldn't believe him, the sheer arrogance of he!

She was not some defenseless flower!

She was a lioness!

"I refuse." She stated dully.

That answer did not surprise either Stormlords.

"Cersei." She raised her hand it order to quell any protests from her uncle.

"Who do you think you are Lord Stannis Baratheon?" She asked indignantly.

This they did not foresee.

"Beg your pardon?" Stannis asked icily.

"You think me a fool? Who are you to foist yourself upon problems within mine House?" She said with barely contained fury.

Stannis remained quiet, his cold blue eyes never straying.

"I will not agree to such a journey, unless we were to pass by the holding of a lord I wish to meet on the way." She answered more calmly.

"Which Lord?" Stannis sounded intrigued? She didn't know if she was imagining it, but she noticed how the brow of one of his eyes slightly raised.

"Lord Renly Baratheon of Storm's End." His eyes narrowed into snake like slits; his lips curled into an ugly frown; his right hand clenched into an iron grip. She couldn't help but notice so much about his subtle feelings.

Lord Stannis was angry.

"Why?" He growled out without a need to hide his contempt.

"You wish to inquire mine father why he is so cold? Then I wish to do the same for your brother." Her eyes met his, once she was afraid to look at them. Now she only saw the sadness in them, how she wanted those eyes to look at her with warmth.

He looked away.

She couldn't believe it.

Ser Davos himself narrowed his eyes as he noticed this.

"Fine." She didn't expect that, she never once expected Stannis Baratheon to even entertain that thought.

"We will first make way for Storm's End, from whence we begin our sail towards Oldtown. From there we shall go through Highgarden then finally through the Oceanroad reach Casterly Rock." The route he suggested sounded needlessly long.

"Why not use the Kingsroad?" She immediately regretted that question.

"I do not have the stomach for two 'brothers." Others would have heard the scorn in which Lord Stannis spoke those words.

She however heard something else, it was quiet and subdued; but still remained there.

Sadness.

A solemn and heartbreaking sadness that she didn't want to hear at all.

She didn't deserve him, she was not going to be the woman who would heal the wounds of his heart.

But at least she would be the one who would make him smile, to remind him why he did his duty.

* * *

 **Note: It begins**


	16. The Mountain

**Note: 90% books, 10% show  
**

 **Disclaimer: A Song of Ice and Fire is owned by G.R.R Martin. This is a strict non-profit venture.**

* * *

He felt only rage when he awoke within the middle of the night, his bed groaning as he shifted his gigantic girth.

He panted like a dog, screaming maddeningly as he felt the pains that wracked his head.

His screams so loud that smallfolk within miles of Clegane Keep were able to heart it.

This was all he felt.

Rage and pain.

They had run out of the Milk. His Maester had proven to be incompetent, he had forgotten to get more of the Milk. He had wanted to reprimand him.

A man who didn't listen had no use for his ears.

Unfortunately, the old fool had died of 'natural causes'. He wanted to kill him, to make him feel the same pain that he had left him in.

He was lucky. He would have done worse than what the Gods had intended.

Clegane Keep was a dreary and grim place, it looked like a normal Knight's tower to any visitor; but the dreadful stories of its Lord had seeped its reputation in darkness and infamy.

It lacked in everything that mattered.

It had no strong walls, only a few smallfolk. It was more like a brigand's stronghold than any noble lord's holding, and in the opinion of the wider realm it was true in a manner of speaking if one considered the Clegane's no more than mere thugs with titles.

He hated his keep. It was quiet to be sure, but there was nothing to do. He was forced to make is own entertainment.

First he targeted his servants and then his smallfolk, but he quickly learned at the rate he went through them he would have no one to serve him, so he decided to desist on hunting within his own lands; deciding that the lands of the other Lords would give far more worthy prey.

His actions had quickly endeared a hatred on the local lords, who tried to get rid of him through conventional means. They were beaten back however, no matter how many swords they sent after him.

Eventually Lord Lannister had received word of his actions, of how he often 'foraged' on his vassal's properties.

The Lords of Lannisport and Cornfield especially complained like whimpering lickspittles to Lord Tywin. They spoke of how the Mad Dog of House Clegane had started biting the master's hand.

They were weak, they allowed peace to dull them. Their knights were slovenly and slow, they were too easy to kill; but, blood remained blood. Their deaths served to entertain him like any other. He enjoyed breaking their skulls with sword and hand; he reveled in their screams as his men roped them into splits and roasted them like game; he bellowed in utter amusement when some of his men tried to eat the cooked meat, they spoke of how it tasted like a mix of hare and pork.

Lord Tywin had leashed him, had his men put to death for crimes against the realm. Yet he did nothing to Gregor himself. The Mountain was too valuable to the lion. He needed his strength and his viciousness.

Gregor was angered that most of his effective men-at-arms were now dead to satisfy the whims of weak men. He would have killed Lord Tywin if he were any other man.

The cause for Gregor's even more violent lashings were simple to understand for those who truly understood the savage nature of the Mountain.

He was restless, restless ever since the Stag King's rise.

He resented his liege lord for staying his hand during the war. The more news he received of the battles the more he lusted for the chance to join.

He was overjoyed when Lord Tywin finally decided to declare for the Baratheons. The time came for him to have his share of the killing.

Yet it only proved to be merely disappointing.

He had done so little.

He was supposed to be at King's Landing. He wanted to be the one to kill the Targaryens, to end the line of Dragons. Instead it was Lorch who got that honor; pitiful, soft and piggy Lorch who got the _fun_ of butchering the Prince's family.

Lord Tywin was fearful of the outcome of the clash between Baratheon and Targaryen, Gregor had been made commander of a van of five thousand knights. He was supposed to join Robert just before the Battle over the Trident. To bolster the rebel's numbers with five thousand battle-hardened veterans and to clench the iron gauntlet around the dragon's throat.

It proved to be the wisest course.

For the Stag would have lost without those five thousand knights and the sheer reputation of the Mountain's cruelty.

Their forces were almost routed by the Targaryens. The Lord Baratheon and the Targaryen prince had wounded each other, resulting in their men to decide the future of Westeros.

It took the Mountain to save the Stag.

With fury and rage in his lungs he had crashed into the remnants of the Targaryen army. It was he who gave Robert the chance to win his crown.

It was the Mountain who crushed the dragon's skull.

Robert had lauded him, offering him countless riches. He even suggested a place within his own Kingsguard.

Gregor saw no need for the Stag King's gifts.

He didn't care for such things.

All he wanted was to kill and rape.

He destroyed too few villages and ravaged too few women. Now peace was here, worthless and unwanted peace. His life was now meaningless, there was no purpose to him.

Peace was useless to him. He was made a knight for naught peace but for war. He wanted to kill more and destroy more. He wanted to set King Landing aflame. He wanted to reduce the Reach to ruin and Dorne into a truly empty desert.

To him forgiveness was a grave sin, for it left enemies still breathing. A man who bent the knee needed to have that leg removed and fed to his family. They needed to be utterly destroyed.

He learned that from Lord Tywin, to utterly destroy your foe until only derelict ruins remain of their memories.

The only stories that he cared to listen was those of Lord Tywin. In Lord Tywin he thought he discovered a kindred spirit, one who worshiped violence as he did.

He was disappointed to discover his Lord was far milder than he envisioned.

He had no cause to love the Baratheons. They had made a mistake in making the war such a short affair. They should have prolonged it for years.

He wanted more chances to kill.

There was no need for any righteous cause.

War was not the means but the very end.

Tywin he respected, Tywin he followed.

For the lion had promised him the one thing he wanted.

The chance to take life unabated. To elevate his torturous existence through the deaths of others.

Lord Tywin was his Septon.

The battlefield was his Sept.

Killing his prayer.

Pillaging, rape and harrying were his rites of worship.

He loved nothing but killing. The Stranger was the only god he would ever worship. It was death that defined him and it was death that gave him meaning in this life.

He felt nothing but contempt for those who proved weak to not understand what he knew. That only fear ruled the world. The Septons were fools, the True Knights more foolish and virtuous Lords the most foolish of them all.

It was in part why he hated his brother so much.

Sandor was a weeping welp.

He disliked him when he played with his toys.

He hated him when he cried as he was burned.

Sandor hated the world, hated the reality of this short and cruel life. He hated being the savage dog, hated knightdom because it was not as the tale's talked of them.

Gregor could not help but despise his soft brother.

Sandor was a child in tantrum who saw only filth in the world. While Gregor only saw its beauty.

The world was nothing but death, pain and rage.

There was no other purpose than these three things.

Sandor knew these things, but he did not understand them. He was like a babe playing with a blade. He did not know the extent of the power the thing he held gave him.

These three things were Gregor's entire being, they were all there was to him. They were the only things that he held sacred. If Gregor believed in anything than it was these three facets of reality.

Only when his sword was dipped in blood and his ears caressed by the sweet lamentations of defiled virgins did he feel alive. Only when he left people broken and destroyed did he feel any sort of spiritual stirrings in his black and depraved soul.

He was a warrior-monk, like those of the Warrior Sons of ages past.

A true believer who believed in a cause higher than himself.

Yet the religion he followed he followed alone.

His religion was war and strife.

His creed was violence for its own destructive end.

The Stags took it all away from him.

They took away his cherished war.

He would never forgive them for such a crime.

They had committed blasphemy within his eyes.

* * *

Jousting was a poor imitation of real fighting. The point of it was not for killing, which made it pointless; but, it was the only outlet for Gergor's impulses. The closest to actual war without breaking the laws of the realm.

The journey to Deep Den was quiet, much to his distress. Ever since Gregor Clegane killed the Dragon Prince crime had been seldom seen within the Westerlands. Most of the brigands were either slain by him or served under him. So hence travel was relatively safe, no bandit was foolish enough to prowl on the roads for fear that one day they would suffer the wroth of the Mountain that Rides.

When they arrived he instantly felt a distaste of the entire affair; the one thing he hated about tourneys was how loud they were. All the insipid talkings of lords and smallfolk only served to worsen his head pains. All he wanted was to strangle them all into solitude.

He cared less for what they cared for and cared even less more about the reason for this gathering of cravens and milksops.

The Lord of House Lydden had apparently born a child and held the tourney in celebration of its nameday.

In order to celebrate life, one needed to celebrate death.

A Maester told him this once, the only time he had ever bothered to heed a Maester's words.

Without men as savage as he, then how would people know what was good and virtuous? The Gods put him here for a reason.

His purpose was of violence, to remind men of their mortality. It amused him so on how men would whisper of his cruelty.

There was a purpose to Gregor, even a brute such as he was aware of it.

Lord Tywin had entrusted him with an important duty.

Fear.

The Rains of Castamere was not sufficient enough to remind the enemies of lions that they were not a house to be fucked with. They needed something more than a catchy tune to put the fear into them.

They needed a Mountain.

He knew his purpose. He knew why Lord Tywin allowed him free reign when it came to his cruelty.

Nothing ruled man more than fear.

Not love, nor coin or loyalty.

It was fear that ran the world. The Westerlands were known for their rich mines, and the Cleganes were no different; but, instead of silver and gold. What the Clegane's mined in ample and generous amounts was iron and blood.

The fat and vain Westerland lords knew of how much more wealthy the Clegane's were compared to them. The wealth that the Clegane's held was far more stable and useful than the pretty rocks they hoarded.

Their wealth was built on burning villages, broken maidens, gutted knights and dead children.

They peddled fear itself.

When he first trotted in with is massive armor he already heard their whispered murmurings; men's faces were drained of color, women fainted and crying babes grew silent in his wake.

The great Lord of Lydden humbled himself when the shadow of Gregor was cast above him. He remembered how he groveled like a child and spoke of his praise.

He wished for the soft lord to silence himself least Gregor tear out his tongue. He had no use for words, he came only for the joust. That was all.

All he managed to respond with was a deep and reverberating growl, the Lord Lydden was quick to retreat when Gregor made his displeasure known.

He did not need the offers of marriage, nor the gossip on who was playing the game of thrones. All he was meant for was the violence.

They were all empty and rudderless beings; in his eyes they were less than even animals. They were motivated by such petty things.

They wanted power, or gold, glory and whatever the fuck they wanted to enrich themselves with. They acted as if death would not claim them one day.

It was only because of Gregor's presence did they not smalltalk as they would have wanted to. It was quickly made evident that the Mountain had a mercurial and short temper that could claim the lives of those who had so unknowingly triggered it.

They took to the field, brandishing their arms. Gregor noted how within the Lydden pavilion, there was a pretty looking lady seated among them who wore the Lydden colors of green and brown along with the badger.

Gregor imagined just how beautiful her face would have been if it were in pain.

His first two tilts had enraged him, for they were not true jousts. His two foes were utterly terrified of the Mountain, with both purposefully withdrawing from the jousting. They'd rather be shamed than face the Mountain's lance.

Only the third proved to be braver than most.

A knight of House Ashford, his bronze armor blazoned with a silver sun on the middle. He galloped like a fool without fear, paying no heed to the Mountain's terror.

It only gave him death in the end.

The boy had failed to fasten his gorget properly, he noticed it so plainly. He aimed for his chest, and on the first try he had him impaled.

There were screams of fright and shock.

Gregor remained seated on his stallion, looking on impassively as the Maester removed the knight's helm.

He was very young.

He had probably not yet seen his twentieth nameday.

His green eyes were glazing over, his hazel hair was caked in dirt and blood. He gasped desperately for dear life.

To no avail.

The Maester stared at him, his eyes only showing hate.

Gregor whipped the reigns of his steed, the beast rode over the newly fresh corpse, desecrating the young knight with its hooves.

The Maester screamed out in bloody murder.

"YOU MONSTER!" Gregor had half the mind to cut the old man's head in twain; but he had his fill of blood today.

He looked at the faces of the smallfolk and the lords. All united in their disgust, fear and hatred of him. He looked over back to the pretty Lydden. She looked pale, her pretty hazel eyes widened in shock and her hands shivering in utter disbelief.

She would look beautiful indeed when he was to ever degrade her.

* * *

He had won so easily, it bothered him so.

It bothered him that the young Reach knight was the only one who had given him the blood that he had wanted so.

All were murmuring, they did not wish to cheer for him. He was the Mountain, only fear was worthy of him.

"I-I give you your champion!" The Lydden Lord limply said, not thrilled at the prospect of acknowledging Gregor's victory.

Now all that was left was to crown his queen of love and beauty.

He grinned darkly underneath his helm.

He walked over towards the pretty Lydden girl, tossing the crown to her.

She was in tears.

"S-She's my dear sister Ser Gregor!" Lord Lydden cried out in utter fear for her life.

Yet Gregor ignored him.

Her tears, they made him wild.

Those were such exquisite tears, she sobbed so pathetically. Utterly terrified of being crowned by the Mountain himself.

A sexual hunger quickly gripped him, like a hound when catching the scent of a bitch in heat.

He wanted to make this even more satisfying.

"What is your name?" Gregor spoke for the first time. His voice was ugly and deep, it produced tremors that shook the very earth itself.

She remained quiet, her lips inward as she refused to give him his name.

"Lydia my lord!" Gregor was disgusted by how easily Lord Lydden caved in.

"Lydia. A very pretty name. A name that should belong to a wife of Clegane." Those words took some time to set in.

Her face once terrified, was now deathly pale.

Lord Lydden alternated his gaze between Mountain and sister.

"M-My lord there is su-" Gregor turned his helm at him, the Lord Lydden quickly silenced himself.

"I-If the lord wishes for a wife. T-Then he needs to pay the dowry." Oh? He stared at her now. The fear was still there, but there was some bravery now.

It only made Gregor harder.

He wondered how long this third one would last.

If he was a betting man, he'd wager three months at the very least.

He would have his fun until then.


	17. The Mad Stag

The roaring sound of earth rending thunder signaled their arrival within Shipbreaker bay. Already he felt the ship churning and creaking as the waves of restless stormy sea battered their vessel in an attempt to beckon it into its watery chasms. He sat deep within his cabin, a mere lantern of Myrish make provided his only source of illumination. The rocking caused by the fury of salt water did not bother him in the slightest. He was after all the son of Storms.

Indeed, it was not the sea that bothered him.

It was in fact something else.

He quietly went through the letter once more, that which was previously sealed with the signet ring of his King-brother.

Once more he sent another word concerning his betrothal, now though his tune had changed.

He was pleading for Stannis to consider a breaking of his betrothal to Lady Cersei. The letter raved about the untrustworthiness of the lions and how they played their games with arrogant demeanor.

Stannis couldn't help but be at a loss for words.

The Lannisters did not say 'Hear me Roar' for no good reason.

He strived to understand the subtle meaning behind Robert's words, even if without Davos' council on what they could be.

All that he understood at its basic was that there had to be a conflict of interest between the Lord Paramount of Casterly Rock and his Kingly brother.

No doubt concerning Lord Tywin's sudden departure and return back to his lordly seat. If that was the case, then the direct cause for this could be Lord Tywin's efforts in having the Iron Throne in debt to his House through coin. If it were not for the meddling of Olenna Tyrell none of the lords would have known better.

The Houses of Lion and Rose had a secret war, a war that Stannis had only a cursory interest in and which Davos it seemed was investigating deeply.

The Mountain before he relieved Robert at Ruby Ford had taken a slight detour through the lands of the northern Reach, decimating many noble Houses with their garrison and lords gone. House Roxton in particular had been almost wiped out during the sack of The Ring, leaving only the aging Garth Roxton as the last living Roxton.

This vexed the Queen of Thorns greatly and was a major point of consternation between Lannister and Tyrell.

The game of thrones was a game not worth playing, a game for fools and wastrels who cared naught for duty.

The Rose and Lion should not let their childish games fracture the realm else they would be reprimanded quite harshly.

Yet Stannis couldn't deny that breaking off this betrothal was a powerful thought now in his mind.

Ever since she hugged him he believed that Lady Cersei has proven herself to be unsuitable as a wife.

He shared his troubles with Davos, who as well showed worry for the girl. In the smuggler's words he had believed Cersei Lannister loved him.

It was an amusing but naïve idea.

The word love however was not what he would described Cersei's affection for him.

Stannis was not as blind as people made him out to be, though women were unknown to him; even if he were to lose both eyes he would still notice just how obvious Cersei was in showing her affections now.

At first he thought she was merely trying to seduce him, using her womanly wiles to soften his deposition. Now he believes she truly is infatuated with him, or the idea of him.

Yet it was not love.

Stannis knew what love was.

He had seen and touched it once, when both his father and mother were still alive, a dangerous substance that quite often would make dutiful men drunk and fail in their purpose.

He had thought he felt the same when Cersei did that little impressive display of acting.

Soon after he realized how much of a fool she had made out of him.

Cersei didn't love.

All she did was envy.

Lady Cersei he believed did not think of anyone but herself, all she cared was of her own environs and her own circumstance.

This revealed to him after that one single embrace.

Those words he had told to her that first night, granting her a seat within his council, the extravagant tourney and the gift of the dagger.

All they did was further fuel her unhealthy fixation after some period of introspection.

Davos did not agree fully to Stannis' theories on the girl. He thought he was simply seeing more conspiracies were none existed.

Stannis knew otherwise simply because he also was victim to such a thing.

After all those little moments he had with her, how often she seemed to be mercurial in her emotions; how at times she seemed angered by his deeds whilst in others she acted as if she longed for his word.

He recognized them.

A man like he.

Had recognized why Lady Cersei Lannister acted so queer.

What Stannis was to Cersei, Robert was to he.

Robert was his one obsession, he was always compared to him. He hated how none acknowledged their differences, he hated how he found a small part of him envious of how often noble and smallfolk alike would lavish his brother.

He wanted to be recognized, without Robert's shadow casting over him.

Yet.

To him Robert remained among the greatest Lords he had ever known when they were younger, now even to some extent; no matter how reality said otherwise.

Stannis idolized Robert, he was his brother and one of the last of his body and blood.

Stannis wanted Robert's affections, he wanted Robert to say his thanks for his efforts during the rebellion.

He wanted something that showed he still cared after so long.

Like how he did back when mother and father were lost to them.

They argued, they fought and quarreled. Robert bullied him, and Stannis fought back.

Yet they were brothers, Robert himself said that would never change. He remembered when Robert and he stared unbelieving as their parents perished within the waters outside their home.

He remembered Robert declaring an oath that they would remain family no matter what the whims of fate.

Robert had revealed himself an oathbreaker when he said those words back within the Red Keep.

When Stannis insulted his cherished wolf wife.

Those words that haunted his mind every day as he sat on Dragonstone.

'You are no brother of mine.' Those words he said made his blood cold, his lungs collapse and his mind numb.

Stannis tightened his fists, clenched his jaw, and felt a thick lump within his throat. His eyes watered and his vision glazed over.

Not here.

He was not going to lose himself here in a ship headed towards Storm's End.

This moment of quiet reflection, made his thoughts linger back to Cersei. Was this what Cersei felt as well? This obsession that brings only fear, doubt and self-ruination?

It terrified him.

It was terrible enough to deal with his own damned emotions, how then does one deal with such emotions when it takes the form of an arrogant and hysterical girl?

Stannis couldn't help but frown at his hypocrisy, he was considering denying the marriage to Lady Cersei Lannister only because she revealed herself to be like him in one particular regard.

It churned his stomach to know of this. Stannis was aware of times when it would be difficult if not impossible to reconcile duty with reality, in those times he did not compromise; simply finding another solution that fulfilled his duty without infringing on its basic tenants.

Now?

Stannis was afraid, he had been neglecting his duties. He was indulging in wasteful expenditures and ostentatious gallantry. This was not his duty, his duty was to administer Dragonstone faithfully, without question or deviance.

Lady Cersei had changed that; she was a malignant influence on him.

She was eroding his sense of duty.

She needed to be gotten rid of for his sake and hers.

Was this why he was going to Westerlands?

To finally settle things with Lord Tywin, and not ask for him concerning such a petty thing as an unattended nameday?

But he couldn't deny that she as well had reminded him of something important. That she was a helpful influence as well.

Storm's End was his.

By right and blood.

Not even Robert could deny this; it bothered him that it took Lady Cersei Lannister to make him realize this for it all just deepened his sense of guilt and shame on his own failings as a dutiful lord, son and brother.

* * *

Lord Ralph Buckler was a stick thin man of lithe frame; his head had a fuzzy patch of brown with a perfectly pyramidal goat like beard; his eyes shined dark ocean blue and his face was sharp, like a finely ground piece of stone work.

He cut a grim and intimidating figure, the fact he remained unperturbed during the fierce storm only served to accentuate his stoic image.

He was a Stormlord, this was expected of him.

"As Castellan of Storm's End, I welcome you Prince Stannis Baratheon." Even in the midst of this deafening howling wind the new Castellan and ruling reagent of Storm's End managed to make himself easily heard.

Even so Stannis was deaf to his words, all he did when the looming structure of Storm's End loomed over the horizon from their ships was stare.

Storm's End was magnificent.

They were several yards away from it, there was no place by the castle itself that would serve as appropriate anchorage underneath the battering winds. The castle was built upon Durran's Point, where the great Storm King defied the God's and wed their daughter. He built seven castles to withstand their divine rage, only the seventh survived their curses.

Storm's End, that which defied the gods.

It was a powerful tale.

Stannis only gave cursory nod in response to his words, Lord Ralph Buckler was a wise man in knowing Prince Stannis was a man of little words.

Their small retinue were unaccustomed to the weather, the Westerland's maidens were trying their hardest to push down their dresses; his two squires fared a little better, Ronnet more so because of his Stormlord's blood.

Ser Ronald and Ser Davos could not accompany him; Ser Davos was ruling Dragonstone as its Castellan while Ser Ronald was recuperating from his injuries sustained in his battle against Tygett Lannister, only Ser Ilyn Payne was with them and some Lannister guards.

The Silent Knight remained as quiet and resolute as ever, withstanding the winds with stride.

Among these disparate group his eyes fixated on one in particular.

Lady Cersei had wonder in her eyes, breathless at the sight.

"It looks powerful." She responded as they began their trek towards the castle itself.

Stannis frowned at how she spoke of Storm's End.

She sounded as if she was already Lady of its walls, as if her marriage to Stannis was all but assured after her little display.

Stannis felt a pang in his chest.

She looked so happy, but it was a false happiness.

She coveted Storm's End for herself, not for him.

He wondered, would she still have that wonderment in her eyes if it were not Stannis? Would she have been happier if Robert was to be her betrothed?

Stannis looked at her voluptuous body and her fair face.

She was a Queen, that was the look he saw in her.

A Lannister Queen.

Selfish, arrogant, vain and heedless of others. A prideful and passionate thing that would take what was to be hers, damn the consequences.

Stannis felt envy.

What had duty as a Baratheon gotten him?

A desolate seat, the hatred of former Targaryen bannermen and abandonment from his family.

What would have life been like if he was born a Lannister? All of that vanity and pride his to command and to own?

Stannis felt a sheer terror gripping his heart, it took great strength and dignity for him to remain impassive. They were now underneath the portcullis that lead to Storm's End and many eyes were on the Lord who once suffered a ruinous siege to guard this same fortress.

Fortunately, none had noticed the beads of sweating now falling from his brow.

This was what he had been dreading.

The corrupting influence of a Lannister wench.

She had done what a year's worth of starvation and the might of the Reach could not have done, what years of resentment and scorn of Robert failed to do.

She made him doubt himself.

It was the most horrible feeling he had ever known.

They said that love was a terrible poison that could kill even the most powerful of things, duty counted among them.

No.

He did not love her.

She was vain and shallow. She had no inkling of what duty was, she was weak and easily moved. Her whims were mercurial and she acted rashly without caution. Her foresight was limited, her heart arbitrary.

She could not love him, she only loved something her mind thought he was.

She did not love Stannis Baratheon.

She loved something that looked like him but was not truly him.

Stannis Baratheon was not a man to be loved nor to love.

Only duty mattered.

It was the only thing that mattered.

If it wasn't.

Then he would lose himself.

He would have nothing.

No family, no pride and no reason for living.

* * *

He should have expected this as they quietly feasted, a somber attitude permeating within the air of the dining hall of Storm's End. This was to be expected.

Lord Ralph Buckler had a look of worry in his face when he had delivered the news.

Renly was missing; they could not find him.

They had scoured the halls of Storm's End looking for him, they were confident he did not leave the fortress and so must have been hiding.

This was to be expected.

Robert had said he was no brother of his.

Why would little Renly not be of the same mind?

He ate the cooked lamprey stuffed with cheese, chewing on it several times. His teeth grinding as he did so. The last time he was here, there was nothing to eat but old boots and onions. Yet even so he remembered those troubling times with more enthusiasm than he had currently as he sat.

The party that accompanied him were just as quiet, as if they felt the mood of the Lord who was leading them.

This was not surprising.

So why then was he angry?

He noticed a pair of sad eyes on him. They were by his side, quietly eating as well.

Lady Cersei had a solemn look to her, one of disappointment and despondence.

She showed him eyes that sought for repentance.

As if she was to blame for this.

He did not blame her for this, though she asked for them to pass here; the choice to actually do so was entirely within the fault of Stannis himself.

He wanted to come here, even if he would deny it to anyone who asked him.

This was his ancestral seat.

This was his home.

He was born here, raised here, starved here and saw death here.

In Dragonstone he felt his mind ebbing away claimed slowly by madness, he needed to be rid himself of it.

He wanted to be back home.

Yet it did not feel like home.

It felt like he had never left Dragonstone at all.

* * *

Why was he here? Why was he standing here?

The wind was searing, he felt it cutting his skin like tiny razors. His eyes never strayed from the sight he was seeing, a dark shadow that spewed out rain and lighting was tormenting the waters of Shipbreaker Bay.

He remembered this spot, this was where he stood when he saw them die.

This was the spot that he lost all care for the God's who killed parents in front of children. The memory clung to his mind as fresh as it was when he was a child. He remembered Robert at his left with Maester Cressen on the right. He remembered how Robert laughed in joy, and how he tried to stifle a smile as well at their return.

He remembered as it smashed against the hidden rocks, _Windproud_ , he remembered their joy turned horror.

He remembered, and he wanted to forget.

"Lord Stannis?" No, it couldn't be.

He felt the sounds of dainty slippers walking over stone, he remembered grunts of effort as a Westerlands maid tried to protect her long hair from billowing wildly in the wind.

"Why are you here by your lonesome?" Quickly she found herself by his side, even in the face of such perilous winds.

The strands of her lovely golden hair were blocking her eyes. He heard the struggle in her voice under such adversity.

She should not be here.

Not here, nor on this castle, nor by his side and nor her hand promised to him.

She should have never have come.

She was heedless of his silence, merely moving her sight towards where he stared. The wind was dying now, the ravenous storm now abating at a steady pace until all was calm and silence reigned once more.

It was long indeed until something other than the sound of passing breeze graced their ears.

"Was this where you saw them last?" He grabbed the parapets so hard that he felt the blood on his hand heating like a forge.

Why?

Of all the possible questions she asked that one? Why did the God's saw fit to torment him further? Why did their cruelty have no bounds?

She remained silent, she seemed to know any further questioning would not be the wisest course.

"They loved you. Your parents." Stannis whipped his head at her, a burning hatred in his eyes.

She looked at him surprised, as if she did not expect her words to cause such a beastly reaction.

"What do you know of love?" He said with vile and disgust.

She opened and closed her mouth several times, her mind still thinking of an answer.

"To care for someone? "She said with glib innocence, as if that was good enough.

"Is that all? Is that all is needed for love? I can care for a horse, or for a tree. Does this mean I love them?" She looked uncomfortable. She expected something else no doubt, she expected him to melt like some soft knight from one of her tales. She expected him to lose grip of his emotions and break down weeping about his lost parents.

She expected that she would be here to comfort him, to tell him they loved him and that was all that truly mattered.

The gall of her.

This Lannister bitch.

He was not some simpering fool easily lead astray by the charms of vapid beauty.

She dared use her parents against him.

Using his memories of them like some piece in Cyvasse.

The love of the death did not compare to that of the living.

"It is to care and know someone deeply, to understand their wants and desires and their dreams?" She tried to save face, the panic in her eyes so evident to him.

"How? How does one know someone? Know their wants? Their needs? Their desires? Their fears and their hopes? How does one know of such a thing? Through knowledge? Assumptions? Baseless fantasies and delusions? By asking them? By your own meaning have you ever loved anyone then? Know someone's wants? Their desires? Their dreams?" She stepped back groggily, as if he had hit her on the face with an iron gauntlet.

Those eyes.

Those eyes made him feel something terrible.

Those were tortured and pained eyes, he had seen such eyes on men who had just lost their limbs.

Her lips quivered, her mind gone blank. She was not expecting this.

He was not expecting this.

"I do… I- "She stopped, her eyes lingering on him. She wanted to say something, say something else.

But those eyes widened.

No." She said finally, a realization hitting her suddenly.

"I have never truly loved anyone." She said dead, no feeling nor any of that Lannister arrogance.

He stared at her, at how she trembled like grass waving in the wind.

"Lady Cersei I-"She forced a smile, cutting off what he wanted to say.

"I shouldn't have disturbed you my Lord." She croaked out.

"I didn't mean for this unpleasantness to happen. For me to rudely reawaken painful memories." She choked back on her tears.

"M-May the Lord let me excuse mineself?" She was on the verge on crying now.

All Stannis could manage was a limp nod.

He looked back at her retreating form, of how her arms seem to glide over her eyes.

She was a liar.

She was a temptress.

She did not love him.

She couldn't love him.

It was impossible.

* * *

He walked in a daze, his mind clouded and his limbs feeling limp. He felt as if he quaffed an army's worth of tankards.

He did not have any destination in mind, his legs were guiding him without any sort of guidance from his will.

He asked her if she truly loved, if she had understood anyone and loved them truly. Her answer was not what he expected.

She should have denied him, should have said something else. How did her denial make him feel so restless?

He stopped as he found himself before an old door. It took some scant minutes for him to realize this was the main bed chambers.

Father and mother would have slept here.

He did not know what sort of force possessed him to do so, but he entered it. The first thing he noticed was how dusty it was, nothing had been touched, for many years maybe.

"You found me!" From behind the bed something popped out, so suddenly that it shocked him out of his stupefied state.

"Renly?" He blinked as he saw his frivolous brother before him.

"You're bad at this game Stannis. Robert played it better." The boy beamed at him, he looked so much like Robert when he was younger.

He noticed now, how some parts of the floor had the dust disturbed, leading to a path behind the bed.

"Renly. You are Lord of Storm's End. Why did you not greet us?" Stannis couldn't believe it; he had been hiding here for the past hours?

Was the boy mad?

"It isn't fun being Lord, well sometimes it is; but sometimes it isn't. I just wanted to play a game is all. Though mayhaps I should have told you first." He smiled at him, so innocent.

"You know I'm not one for games." Stannis would have been angry at Renly's failure as Lord if he was not tired so.

"Come on! I was so excited when you were coming! Just one game!" He whined.

"Excited? Don't you find me boorish?" Renly regarded him queerly.

He was a young boy of seven years. He did not understand fully the troubles that plagued the House of Baratheon.

"Yes, quite boorish; but you're still my brother aren't you? And I've wanted someone to play with me for so long, Lord Ralph doesn't like playing; no one else does." Stannis couldn't believe it.

"Brother?" Stannis repeated as if the word was new to him.

"That's what they tell me, are you ill brother?" Renly japed with a childish glee.

He was a child.

Of course.

He couldn't have known.

"I apologize." Stannis sobered up.

"What for?" Renly asked with curiosity.

"I did not play the game correctly. May we try again?" Renly jumped with giddy joy.

Stannis Baratheon was not a man for petty things, always doing what was expected of him with grim determination.

Playing with Renly was one of the most foolish things he had ever done.

Yet if he did not do so, he dared not think what would have been his state of mind if he continued further on their journey

This was possible because of Cersei.

Now his mind did not know what to make of her.

He had thought she was playing him all this time; but those tears, every time she cried. Only a true monster would shed such tears without nary a tinge of emotion and Cersei Lannister didn't seem to be a monster.

Not as far as he knew.

She was like Renly.

A child.

Even if flowered and a woman grown.

She still had a child's view of the world.

A child curious about everything she saw.

A child that wanted to be like her elders.

This both angered and saddened Stannis.

Now he was looking forward to Casterly Rock, wanting to know exactly what kind of man Lord Tywin was for raising such a broken girl.


	18. Sword of the Evening

Storm's End was impressive, he dared say it awed him more than Dragonstone. Dragonstone had an alien make and had horrific stone sentinels atop its walls. Yet Storm's End roost made it look more ominous. The constant barrage of thunder and lightning only served to accentuate how grim and unyielding the Baratheon seat was.

It stood defiant, looking impervious to all attempts by nature to make it bow.

Dragonstone invoked dread by its unnatural stone, Storm's End invoked fury in its refusal to yield.

A fitting home for a House like Baratheon.

For millennia the Dornish and Stormlords have warred, well everyone south of Westeros have. The stories he heard of men like the Lord of Wyl crippling Orthys Baratheon himself, had made him feel uneasy when he first arrived here.

Yet none of them paid heed to the Dayne boy, all were grim men, shoddy reflections of Stannis Baratheon.

Their attitudes and aloofness only served to calm him.

It was odd, when he first came here he thought it was going to be the end of the world; but as he learned and sparred under Lord Stannis Baratheon he found himself changing his thoughts.

He always thought himself a selfish lad, indeed he did not see any flaw in looking out for one's self. He believed little in the empty oaths and codes of knighthood; they seemed restrictive and detrimental to one's skills as a warrior.

Stannis Baratheon rocked him out of such thoughts.

A younger him would have dismissed the second son of House Baratheon. His example would have merely proved Gerold's point that True Knights were weak men.

Stannis Baratheon was no True Knight as most would see it.

He was not compassionate, nor graceful and warm. He did not go off gallantly rescuing damsels and slaying evil. In fact, he would have served a perfect Black Knight in many a tale. A grim and cruel figure whose literary purpose was to fail and to validate the True Knight's creed.

Stannis Baratheon was no true knight.

But Gerold Dayne couldn't help but see him as the knightliest among them all.

It was queer, he had despised Stannis for qualities that he now admired.

This epiphany happened quite early in his squiring, during Lord Stannis' duel with the Greyjoy heathen.

Gerold had witnessed the man's savagery and inhuman strength. How he easily battered away his foes with no hesitation.

He was awed by him, so of course he had expected his victory.

But then Lord Stannis clubbed him in the head with a shield, he willingly allowed his arm to be ruined just to achieve his victory, braving sheer pain and even potential maiming just to prevent the man from leaving his pitiful island.

He remembered attending to him, how frozen and mirthless his face was, as if he had not just escaped death; but then he saw his eyes.

Those eyes haunted him, they were not human eyes.

Gerold had beautiful violet eyes, a staple amongst House Dayne. It gave them an ethereal aura that awed many.

Stannis Baratheon's eyes were different.

They were the eyes of nature given form.

They burned and raged like a quiet tempest, they bellowed loudly like an enraged stag about to gore its foe. They were the eyes of a man unyielding, who would let death itself claim his life if it meant avoiding failure.

He wanted eyes like his, eyes that left those speechless and numb.

Eyes of true power, that surpassed even a crown of gold.

So he listened and obeyed, he suffered and toiled under the gaze of such striking eyes.

To his amazement he was learning.

Lord Stannis thought him patience, Ser Ronald thought him combat and Ser Ilyn how to survive.

All three had terrorized him; breaking him in mind, body and soul. What they did made him stronger.

Ronnet too seemed to be benefiting as well. He was surprised that the boy's own father would be even more vicious on him than Gerold; both would often complain at the tight grip of Stannis, the mad barking of Ser Ronald and the sheer brutality of Ser Ilyn.

They were close strangely enough. It was a comradery that Gerold himself did not expect to enjoy. He had first tried using Ronnet as a tool, but now they had become strong friends.

The reason for such a sudden bond was that both had lost their sword virginity at the same time and circumstance, killing their first men in the same skirmish. It happened when they were rushing towards Claw Isle for Lady Cersei's nameday celebration. They had encountered a small minor band of brigands who had thought that the passing Hedge Knight would have been easy prey.

Gerold remembered the misshapen face of the lout who tried to tear him off his horse, how his once manic glee turned into frozen terror as the scalp of his head slid off, revealing the still pulsating viscera underneath. He remembered almost retching at such a sight, still smelling the pungent odor of the man's dying spasms.

Killing wasn't as pleasant as he thought it would be.

Ronnet was not so lucky if it were possible, his foe was an insane smallfolk woman who had straddled him while attempting to stab him in the crotch in a demented mockery of copulation. The boy ended up breaking her neck with both his hands in an impressive display of strength. Her half naked body fell atop over him, the look on his horrified face made him feel sorry of the poor lad instead of the usual sadistic glee.

The experience changed them both.

He remembered clearly the words Lord Stannis told him in the aftermath as they tried to regain their bearings.

'Men who don't live righteously, do not deserve to live.'

Gerold was not convinced by such words; but Ronnet took to them fervently. The boy had grown darker in his outlook, even more vicious and zealous as he started changing into a strange cross of Lord Stannis and Ser Ronald. The Blue Hen and the Silent Sister blamed him for such a change; when indeed they should have been blaming Stannis.

The experience had dulled the courtship between Ronnet and the Silent Sister. He remained infatuated with her, but any discussion concerning the sexual would elicit a very strong response from Ronnet that would range from mild distaste to almost homicidal fury.

Though Gerold couldn't admit that Stannis' influence was affecting him as well.

His once earlier childish game with the Blue Hen had cooled into simple banter, no longer did he rave for revenge like it was some sort of prize. It had become civil if he needed to put a word to it.

Civil, and only that.

Although that was what he thought it would be.

In secret, he started seeing something in the Blue Hen that he did not see in anyone before. She was clever, a witty little thing. She was also beautiful, something he realized only recently.

Gerold was now starting to feel the changes of manhood wracking his body, his voice was deepening, and he started feelings the urges of men when confronted by beautiful women. He was going growing now, and Lady Shierle Swyft was starting to appear in his very raunchy dreams

Was this what maturity felt like?

* * *

He stood quietly within the Storm's End Godswood, staring at the solemn face that had been etched on the Weirwood tree.

Why was it so sad? What terrible things did it see as it was rooted here in this stronghold of storm and salt?

Gerold was lost in his recollections, trying to make sense of his circumstances and the changes that were now affecting him.

What changed? What had made him so unsure about his self? About his desires?

Once he aspired to be a vicious renegade, a hellion unworthy of the Dayne name. One whose infamy would spread across Dorne and Westeros.

Now he knew nothing.

"Lost in your thoughts?" Gerold frowned.

"You're here by your lonesome?" He asked without turning towards the disembodied voice.

Lady Shierly Swyft did not seem the type who intruded on others in their moments of privacy, but the Blue Hen was quite the gossip even if she denied it so. She always had to know what was going on around her, a fine attitude for a courtier playing the game of thrones.

"You're a mere boy, I see no harm in being by myself." She quipped quickly as always.

"But soon I won't be." He responded back.

She was taken off balance by that answer as he stared at her with his dark violet eyes.

"You should leave before anyone discovers this scene." He found himself saying gently, with a level of concern he didn't knew he had.

She looked surprised, but then smiled sweetly.

"I'm surprised, I thought you'd want that to happen. The maids and the servants would love gossiping about the shameless handmaiden and her dalliance with a young squire ." She japed.

"Dalliance? Is this what you call it?" She started blushing as she realized what his meaning was.

"D-Don't misunderstand me! I assure you that nothing tawdry is happening between us." She said tongue-tied, reddening at how he coyly smirked at her words.

"Oh? Such a shame, I was about to ask you to sit alongside me as I stare into the weirwood tree." She fidgeted on her spot, stressing over something.

"M-Mayhaps you should proceed with your proposal then." She was avoiding his eyes now, a bit embarrassed.

"You don't mind wasting your time with a foppish Dornish lout?" She pursed her lips, a light shade of pink surrounding her freckles.

She stomped towards his side, sitting on the fresh dew covered grass before giving an irritated noise.

She looked away from him, not willing to confront his face with hers.

He turned his eye towards the weirwood, wondering if he should be doing this.

"You know the stories of Storm's End I assume?" The Blue Hen relaxed, slowly looking back towards him as he stared at the solemn face of the weirwood tree. His eyes gazing straightwards as he was lost in a reverie.

"Which ones? There are many." He nodded his head slightly.

"The one about the castle's origins. The story of the Storm King and the daughter of the Gods." Shierle nodded her head enthusiastically, figures even she had a liking to such romantic tales.

"Such a sweet and romantic tale for such a dreary castle. A man defies the very God's for his beloved, erecting seven castles. To think Storm's End was created out of a man's love for a woman." The Blue Hen was a lot more outspoken now. He couldn't help but smile.

"I think it's quite apt in all honestly. A tale befitting the Baratheons." Lady Swyft just stared at him with a smirk, wondering what would make him say such a queer thing.

"You think a romantic tale fits the House that says 'Ours is the fury'?" Gerold seemed to take her question with stride.

"What makes men furious?"

That question dumbfounded the Blue Hen. Even her glib tongue couldn't think of quick retort.

"Love." Shierle didn't seem to be convinced.

"What is the quickest way to make a man furious? Threaten that which he loves. His family, his House, his faith. If you do, then he will come at you with all he has." Shierle just stared, speechless by how wise he sounded.

"What do you love?" She asked that question without thinking, she blushed as she realized she had allowed her tongue to slip so carelessly.

"I don't know, first mayhaps I must figure out what makes me feel fury." Gerold was enjoying every word that passed between them. Talking with Lady Shierle made him feel as much ease as staring into the weirwood.

"What makes you furious?" He took some time trying to remember any incident that made him feel such strong emotions.

"The Ironborn." She looked at him quizzically.

"When the rogue Ironborn were fleeing from Lord Victarion Greyjoy. In that cave where I fought them." Lady Shierle had a dawning expression as she remembered that incident as well.

"When I was fending them off, trying to impede them. I felt fear, hope and a sort of quiet rage." They were now looking at each other, the tension and awkwardness all gone.

"I remember, you ordered me to ride back to Dragonstone. I was worried just what might happen to you if I did not arrive in haste." Gerold smiled softly at how concerned she was.

"And I was afraid just what might happen to you if I had not prevented them." It took them some time to realize their faces were very close to one another, to a point that their breaths could be felt on the other's skin.

"I remembered how wretched you look when I asked of you to abandon me. I felt a queer rage that I was walking to my grave with that face on my conscious. I just wanted to see your haughtily looking at me one last time. "Slowly he moved his face even closer to hers, now they were able to smell the other's sweat.

"I….I…..was terrified. I was afraid that you'd die." Her voice was cracking; her eyes watering now.

He did not intend to do what he did, there was something primal that was guiding his body.

Their lips made contact, under the gaze of the weirwood.

It lasted for only a second.

"N-No this is indecent!" She grabbed his wrists, before his hands were able to grab her back.

She was crying.

He felt a stabbing sensation in his gut as he looked at how she wept.

"I-I'm sorry…. I didn't know what came over me. I- "She shoved herself into him. Their bodies intertwined for only a moment. Her dainty hands combing his silver hair, his rough hands firmly grabbing onto her hips.

Their tongues jousting. Their lips dancing.

It was messy, their bodies were very stiff, but the longer it continued the more they relaxed.

She was the first to break contact, with heavy labored breaths she wiped away his salvia from her mouth.

Gerold found himself lying on the grass, his mind blank as he tried to register just what happened.

She was seated next to him, a look of both dawning horror and immense satisfaction.

"It seems I have been henpecked." He was still recovering; his rosy cheeks were burning hot. The lower nether regions of his developing body were very much awake now.

"T-That was a mistake." She whispered feverishly, covering her face with her hands as she rested her head on her knees.

"We all make mistakes, we're only mortal." Gerold looked high into the night sky. The dozens of stars were greeting him as he felt his body heat up.

"I-I'm sorry I should lea-." He placed a hand over her head, ruffling her hair slightly.

"If anyone chances upon us. Then I would want you to scream, and say how I tried to take your honor. That way you save face." She turned parted her hands from her face, her reddened eyes staring at him with anger.

"I will do no such thing." She caustically said.

He laughed.

He took the time to stare at her now.

Those lovely eyes, those full lips, her beautiful freckles.

Yes, he finally understood.

"I think I might like you Lady Shierle." He stated with a warm smile.

She blushed even more intensely than he thought possible.

"How can you say such a vulgar thing!" She screamed into her knees, her voice muffled.

"Well I am Dornish." He glibly responded.

She raised a hand and tried to hit him in the arm, but with her face buried all she managed were weak and inaccurate blows.

"This is not the proper way of showing one's affections!" Gerold couldn't believe what she was saying.

He might have been the instigator, but she was the one who continued so enthusiastically.

"Fine, as the soon-to-be-Ser Gerold Dayne of High Heritage. I suppose I should send a raven to Lord Swyft and ask permission to woo his lovely daughter." She raised her head, showing him a surprised look.

"W-Would you do such a thing?" She asked hopefully.

He had intended to make a jape out of it, but now he was considering such a proposal

"Would your father accept a lowly landed knight as a suitor for his daughter's hand?" She shifted in her place.

"He would most definitely, your name carries a certain weight." He should have been annoyed that the name of Dayne was the only thing that would get him what he desired, but he shouldn't be complaining.

"The question is why would you want to court me of all maidens." Gerold sighed, this was what women did. They doubt a man's honest feelings, deceiving him into thinking they did not actually fancy her, but in secrecy wanting him to chase her meanwhile getting livid when he does not understand her games.

"What do you doubt of me?" She parted her hair, placing an observant eye on him.

"I don't know where to start." His head dropped at her failure to even voice what she wanted to know.

It seems he needed to allay her fears without assistance.

He scooted himself next to her, resting his head on her lap.

She didn't seem to mind.

"They say that the Dornish do not have marriage bed's and that they sire bastards as much as they sire true born sons." He started talking now, she started to get tense now. It seems he was off to a good start.

"They say that I am a cruel, listless and arbitrary lad with no sense of morals. That I am a creature of whims and not of duty." He repeated what he had heard of himself through hearsay and gossip, she continued to be tense as well.

"Do you want to know what I say?" She nodded simply.

"I say I do not know who I am. I am a boy in the cusp of manhood. I am told to be virtuous by the Seven, to be cruel by the knight I squire, to be free by my Dornish kin and so many other things. You ask why I am courting you? I venture a guess that you think I am being a wastrel of it, you think that to me this is merely fancy and nothing of true meaning. I want to answer the same. That I do not know, but that is not the truth." She was waiting for his answer.

"You defy me. To such a degree that it vexes me so. Not even my spat with Lord Stannis matches the sheer vitriol I had for you when we first met. I honestly wanted to hurt you." She frowned deeply, tears ready to fall.

He raised his hand, wiping the drops with his fingers before they could form fully.

"Look at you, in times past I would have reveled in this. Yet I only feel anger. Stop wasting your tears over a churl like me." It hurt him in ways he didn't thought possible seeing her cry over him.

"S-So you court me in spite? Did you steal my first kiss in your demented form of vengeance?" She tried to shove him off her lap, but Gerold wasn't having none of that.

"No, you do not get my meaning" He struggled, he was irritated by how foolish she was being.

"Then why? Why waste your time with me?" She whispered out, her hands balling into fists. He was very likely to get hurt if he didn't answer correctly.

"I-I can't find the words. I don't know what to say that makes this better." He finally spat in consternation.

"I want to say so many things, yet I do not know how to do so." He grabbed his forehead.

"Why can't you?" He felt her pain, it churned his stomach.

He rubbed his face.

"I'm no Dayne." His voice was shaky now.

"I am no Sword of the Morning." He continued.

"It would be so easy if I was a true knight. In my efforts to stem your tears, I've only made more of them." He felt a strange burning in his eyes.

"I can't compose pretty songs extolling your beauty of the like that Rhaegar did." He croaked.

"I am no Amon the Dragonknight, whose virtue is without reproach, whose word is trusted above all others." He felt something wet dripping down his eyelids.

"I'm only a boy, not even a true man yet. Who does not know what he is, who feels something around a pretty girl. He does not know if it's mere fancy or love at all. All he knows is that he's drawn to her and feels at peace by her side." Soft hands held his cheeks, a smiling maiden looking down at him.

"I accept your answer." She said with genuine joy.

"My answer?" He was confused.

"Yes, all my doubts about you are gone." She placed her right hand over his, fingers intertwining.

"I love you too my Lord Dayne." She had said those words so simply.

His heart was beating like a war drum. His ears were on fire.

He didn't know what to say.

All he could was kiss her once more.

He did not know if this was truly love, but if it was then he truly was madly intoxicated.


End file.
